The Knight's Last Temptation
by GrayLadyOfTheSea
Summary: Sequel to "Full Circle". An aging Bruce Wayne faces the challenge of rebuilding his life and his hometown from the ashes. When a new hero and some foes emerge in Gotham City scenario he's forced to work one last mission. Who will be the ultimate survivor in a game of shadows and deception? Chapter 28 is up.
1. Prologue

**= =THE KNIGHT'S LAST TEMPTATION= =**

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own the Dark Knight Trilogy or Batman or any related character. That belongs to Bob Kane, DC Comics, and Warner Bros. Batman is a creation of Bob Kane and Bill Finger. The Dark Knight Trilogy is a creation of Christopher Nolan, Jonathan Nolan and David Goyer. This applies to all chapters.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Hello, everyone! English is not my native language, so my sincere apologies for possible errors of grammar, punctuation and spelling. Reviews (negatives and positives), suggestions and beta readers are very welcome. Hope you enjoy it.

**FULL SUMMARY: **Bruce, Miranda e Damian are back in Gotham City and will face new challenges and enemies. When betrayal, wounds from the past, power and hero activities are added to the mix, building a family can become a major complication. In this heartwrenching sequel to "Full Circle" discover how people who've lost touch with their own hearts must learn to love and trust the ones in their lives in order to embrace the joys of family life.

* Although he'd barely survived treachery and sworn to never think the best of anyone ever again, **Bruce Wayne** must fight to reclaim the love of the only woman who are still capable of touching his heart.

* Deep down, **Miranda Tate** thinks she's not worthy of Bruce's love and affection, so she keeps hiding herself behind a barrier of cynicism, believing she's indifferent as well as invulnerable.

* As the new Gotham's champion,** Damian Blake** is an impetuous young with some talent, but that is far from being the perfect fighting machine the city needs.

* * *

**Prologue**

_**Florence, Tuscany, Italy**_

People say Florence should be seen for the first time at night. And the sun had already set, the sky was bright and the air was cool and crisp by the time Alfred began to walk along the Arno, after enjoying a drink at his favorite cafe.

He had visited Dante's and Michelangelo's city a lot of times before, but he was still able to marvel at the beauties presented by the place that glistened the Renaissance spirit.

On the left, the Tuscan hills looked like to be born just across the river; on the right, at the old downtown, floodlights were illuminating the old gray stones.

He walked over to the famous Ponte Vecchio – with its old shops that seemed to be dangled in the graceful arc – and kept going towards the north, walking through the oldest part of the city until arriving at his hotel, which was situated somewhere between the Piazza della Signoria and the Duomo di Santa Maria del Fiore.

His thoughts were racing a million miles a second. He knew Batman had single-handedly saved the city by sacrificing himself. But could he be mistaken?

Did he see what he saw? Or was it just an illusion, fooling his eyes and tricking his mind?

Inside the hotel's lobby, a beautiful front desk clerk looked up from the reception desk to see him at the exact moment he crossed the main entrance.

"Mr. Pennyworth," she addressed him, smiling and cutting off his thoughts.

He stopped, turned and went to her.

"Yes?" he asked the elegant brunette.

"This was left for you," she said as handed him a manilla envelope.

"Thank you," he thanked her, a little bit surprised.

She simply nodded in return and he moved off toward the elevator.

As the empty elevator – except for his presence – was climbing, he opened the envelope without much hesitation. His eyes raced over the small paper sheet. He recognized the handwriting. His heart grew lighter still and he smiled as his eyes once more laid on the paper.

It was an invitation for a meeting.

**TOMORROW. 09:30 AM. CHIESA DI SANTA CROCE**(1)**. LATER, WE'RE GONNA CELEBRATE DAMIAN'S BIRTHDAY. **

**CI VEDIAMO DOMANI.**(2)

**B.**

Reaching his room, Alfred suspected he would stay up that night with the thought of that note. They finally would meet again.

_He is alive indeed!_

After all the sacrifices Bruce had made lately to save his city, after all the battles he had had to fight against his enemies and inner demons, it seemed he had finally found peace.

* * *

_**San Cappano, Villa around Florence, Tuscany, Italy**_

Next morning, Bruce exited the bedroom to the sunny balcony.

_So peaceful, so quiet_, he concluded satisfied. _Perfect._

He inhaled deeply the pleasant scent of bush. Before his eyes lay the lush mountainous countryside, vineyards and olive groves; the cypress trees seemed to be fingers pointing to the fully blue sky.

His bedroom – like all others – had a balcony, and was situated in front of the house – a 13th-century historical building in the shape of an 'U' – and had a view to an open patio.

Over there, at the wonderful villa Miranda had arranged for them, on the outskirts of Florence, he was feeling almost completely recovered from the severe experiences which he had gone through months ago. Thank God, he was beginning to breathe more easily now, without the looming fate of millions of people at his hands and the responsibility to stop the bloodshed laying squarely on his shoulders.

So much had happened in the last months that he did not know where to begin. Despite all the bad stuff that had happened, at least there was an asset – he discovered he had a son with his long lost love from his college years, who never told him anything about it. He had learned that Damian John Blake – the young thief who had stolen his fingerprints – was indeed his son who had been given up for adoption by Miranda, shortly after she had given birth to him. Though heartbroken to be apart from her baby boy, she had agreed that the child would be well off with an adoptive family and away from the League of Shadows' plans. The infant had been adopted by a couple of circus performers, who sadly had passed away a few years later, leaving the boy all by himself.

Somehow knowing that had made him more determined to succeed in his last battle to save Gotham and the people he cared about. And thanks to the Bat's autopilot and ejector device he had been able to remain alive and in one piece to see his son again.

That had been the turning point, when he had decided to get away from Gotham – at least for a while – partly to avoid facing his role as 'the city's favorite son', but more in an attempt to redefine himself and find new purpose and direction for his life. Especially now he had found out he was a father.

Excitement and anxiety was filling him at the prospect of celebrating his son's birthday for the first time.

_Sixteen years. _

He had missed out on the first years of Damian's life. He was no longer a child anymore. He was becoming an adult, a remarkable young man. His father's pride and joy.

The relationship between them happened kind of naturally. With each passing day, they were becoming closer and discovering they shared the same interests and ideas.

After filling up his lungs with fresh air, he smiled. Then he leaned over the iron rail and peered down the garden. Birds were singing on every corner. It seemed like a good sign. A presage of a good day. Seeing Alfred again was just icing on the cake.

Once he discovered he had a son, he knew he was the protective kind. The kind that would do anything on his power in order to ensure the kid's welfare. That meant he and Miranda had to put their differences aside if they intended to make that work. After all, both of them were looking out for their son's best interests instead of their own.

Miranda's betrayal had made him plumbing the depths of despair. She had been the first person Bruce had trusted with his heart since Rachel, and even then Bruce had come to realize he did not love Rachel the way a man should love a woman, he loved her because of the possible security she offered him. Miranda had changed Bruce's way of feeling and that was… frightening, even now.

Bruce cannot stop thinking about those blissful moments of passion he and Miranda had shared that day in Switzerland. However, things between them become awkward as she seemed to try to forget the whole thing, keeping herself away from him and using Damian as a shield and excuse. Now, they were barely speaking to each other, outside of the polite pleasantries that they exchanged at home in front of Damian**.**

If it not had been for the kid's insistence, she would never had offered a guest room in her manor. He was sure she had good intentions towards their son and she would never tear them apart, but he felt as though he were always walking on thin ice with her.

Nor he would be allowed to live a million years he would comprehend the mechanics of a woman's mind_._

Given what Damian had told him and what Mme. Montolieu – the Tate Manor's governess – had let slip, Miranda's early life had not been easy as she had faced a trial after another. He could understand why she had done what she had. However, there was a part of him that was not able to fully trust her yet, although she seemed to be sincerely remorseful.

_Always mind your surroundings._

Ducard's voice kept echoing through his mind, reminding him strongly of necessary to trust by distrusting.

Bruce shivered inwardly. How could she had done that to him? How could she had betrayed him like that? Shock, disbelief, pain, fear, and anger – Bruce had felt them all. And yet at the same time part of him could understand what might have motivated her.

He went back to his bedroom, headed over to the closet and got a robe out of it, making himself ready to start the day.

For even after everything he had endured, Bruce had faith in new beginnings.

* * *

The moment she woke that morning Miranda was overwhelmed by disappointment and frustration. The nightmare had come back. She had hoped the change of scene would help, but here she was, tense and trembling, because of the deep-laid guilt that was her constant shadow. But if that were the case she had to learn to live with it and get on with her life, or the guilt would destroy her.

As she tossed the linen aside and rose from her bed, she reached for her ivory silk robe to get ready for start the day. And today was a special one simply because it was Damian's birthday.

Her baby was turning sixteen.

Tears threatened to fall from her eyes as she remembered this day sixteen years ago. It seemed it had been yesterday she had been blessed with the most precious gift. Her son.

Unfortunately, she had had to give him up for adoption in order to keep him safe and to have a chance to grow up in a real loving family.

For years she had suffered with the decisions she had made and had been convinced she would never be able to feel herself whole again.

But thanks to fate, there was one chance to go back to the point where everything had started. One chance to keep it together when things had fallen apart.

Before marching off to the bathroom, she looked out the window to see what kind of day she would have. The sparse clouds of the previous day had moved in promising to bring a clear blue sky. Maybe Miranda was looking for one sign to make her believe it was true – that she and her son were indeed under the same roof and they would get a day to celebrate his life.

Then she gave a sigh and turned her face up to the sun, revelling in the knowledge that at last she was free. Free from the past and free from those who wanted to manipulate her. She was still stinging from bad memories and suffering from nightmares related with the war waged against Gotham, but she would not sit back and let others cast her in the role of victim – neither of villain. She would rebuild her life, but on her own terms.

She went to the ensuite bathroom and jumped into the shower. Her troubles and thoughts were being smoothly washed away by the fresh water and fragrant soap.

Minutes later, she pulled on clean Capri pants with a short sleeve white lace shirt over the top. She wanted to be comfortable, so she dressed simply that morning. Quickly combing her dark chocolate hair into a ponytail, she glanced at herself in the mirror and grinned, satisfied with the result.

She did not want to look like a seductress or too fancy, neither as she was trying to lure Bruce. Things between them had become so confusing since the day he had come back from the dead. She was not hoping for that spark of passion so sooner, but the fire between them made their battles explode with a heat of uncontrollable force. However still, he never said that three special words. And she doubted he ever would. They had shared great sex but she suspected – no, she was sure – that love was not part of the equation.

So, why should she invest her time and energy in a man who was not capable of loving her?

They even had had a little chat about what had happened months ago and she had told him what he had demanded to know. However she was not looking for his pity or sympathy – perhaps just his understanding. Miranda knew nothing would excuse what she ultimately had done, or would justify why and how she had betrayed him. But she had wished he could try to walk in her shoes.

She was feeling happy but something about being near Bruce in such a close way and knowing they shared a son made her feel out of balance, like she had no control over the entire situation they were or over her own feelings.

She believed maybe it was best for them to part than to continue their dysfunctional relationship.

The bitterness of her past was best left buried beneath the new flesh she had grown over her old wounds. And besides she had Damian to think of now.

_Why things between us need to be so complicated?_ She asked herself, as she exited her bedroom and wandered down to the kitchen to have breakfast.

* * *

When Damian's eyes opened he felt like his was still dreaming. He was not yet got used waking on a bed so comfortable.

He hauled himself out of bed and slightly pulled the curtains away from the balcony door, admiring the outside scenery. He did not know if it was because of his state of mind, but all the colours seemed a little brighter here on the villa. This was as close to perfect as it got.

So much had happened lately. It was still hard to believe that it all really had.

Gotham's siege had stripped most of his last bit of innocence away. He had lost so much. His closest friend Colin Wilkes was dead. He was like a brother to him. If he would be still alive, he probably would be there with him.

At least he had got revenge on Bane. Killing the masked mercenary had given him a pleasant feeling somewhere deep down in his soul, making his anger to soothe a bit. This thought would probably make his father shocked.

His father...

If someone had told him a year ago that he would end up reuniting again with his biological parents and they all would share some kind of vacation overseas, he would have said that person was completely nuts.

And there he was. At a wonderful place with his parents.

For years he had lived a life without ties, and although he had had wonderful and loving adoptive parents, since he had become orphaned again he had started to think about those who had given him life.

The only clues to his impressive heritage had been a golden necklace with a robin shaped pendant – a gift Bruce gave to Miranda that she had left with their child – and a hospital ID wristband – with his mother's surname.

It had been strange at first not to be on his own anymore. Of course he had his buddies but it was not the same thing. A mother and a father made all the difference in someone's life. And despite all the tribulations by which they had passed through, both of them seemed to be committed to his welfare.

He felt sure that whatever happened would give him a whole new view on life. It wasn't everyone who got the chance to start over with a clean sheet.

Damian's optimism took flight.

He realized that he liked his new life and had little desire to go back to Gotham. Even though his father had left to him an important legacy, he had made it clear that Damian would don the cape and cowl only in case of extreme necessity and just after proper training.

Unlike Bruce – when he had begun his nocturnal activities –, Damian did not see a city's brighter days ahead but instead considered himself the last line of defense.

He believed mankind needed heroes. But sometimes the legend of the hero was even more important than the hero himself. Even though that legend would resonate forever, last winter, the Gotham City protector's career – more or so – had come to an end.

Maybe, he was hoping for the best after all.

Anyway, his mother had other plans for him. She asked if he wished to go back to school and eventually attending college. He replied he had attended a distance school for gifted children till about two years ago, and would like to ponder his options before making any decision.

As a prodigy child, he probably would not have difficulties in being accepted into an Ivy League college.

For now, he would like to concentrate only on recovering the lost time with his parents. Today was his birthday and he could not imagine a better way to spend this day than in the company of people who loved him very much.

He changed his pajamas into casual clothes and trudged into the bathroom to begin his morning routine.

As he came down the stairs, Damian noticed a glorious, delicious smell coming from the kitchen. Guided by it, he ran into the kitchen where he found the hired italian chef.

"Something smells delicious," he stated.

"Buongiorno, signore Damian,(3)" said a cheerful Angelo.

"Hello, Angelo" he replied, loving the cosy atmosphere of the kitchen.

"Your mamma(4) and your papà(5) are waiting for you on the porch to have breakfast outside," the italian man informed him as he filled a tray with various foods. "Shall we?" he invited the kid to follow him.

Damian nodded and smiled slightly before heading toward the porch.

Life was never sweeter and the future never looked brighter.

* * *

(1) Basilica of the Holy Cross

(2) See you tomorrow.

(3) Good morning, Master Damian.

(4) Mom

(5) Dad


	2. 1 When In Florence

_Happy holidays. I'll return with more posts, next year._

* * *

**I - When in Florence**

_**Chiesa di Santa Croce, Florence, Tuscany, Italy**_

Designed by Brunelleschi and decorated with frescoes by Giotto, the Basilica of the Holy Cross was situated on the Piazza di Santa Croce and was the principal Franciscan church in the city. Also it was the burial place of some of the most illustrious Italians, such as Michelangelo, Galileo and Machiavelli.

The golden sunlight embraced Bruce the moment he stepped outside the silver sedan. A red Ferrari Testarossa would be anything but subtle, and since he did not want to draw much attention to himself, the car must not be too showy.

He needed this like oxygen, Bruce realised. Real people – people without an agenda, people who didn't know the celebrity he had been. Out here on Florence he was just someone else on the brink of life, testing what the world had to offer before the weight of responsibility tied him down. It was all the therapy he needed.

Things had been a little tense at early morning. Miranda had kept going with her 'Ice Princess' facade until Damian had showed up to have breakfast with them. Her behavior was beginning to chafe him.

A few blocks away from there, she and Damian were waiting to join them for lunch later. She suggested he and Alfred needed some time alone.

He was experiencing a certain anxiety but he could feel all the tension easing away from his shoulders as he slipped sunglasses onto his nose. After the battle to save Gotham, he had been faced with two options: to stay in the city, where everyone knew him, or to leave the country and start again, one building block at a time.

Of course he needed to pick some choices at the expense of others. Giving up of his id as Bruce Wayne was easy, but faking his own death and keeping it close to his chest without allowing his friends and allies knowing his whereabouts was hard. Probably, the one who had suffered the most with everything had been Alfred, and Bruce had no idea what to expect. Last time he had talked to the old butler, they had parted away from each other harshly. At least, he owed an apology and some explanations to the man who had raised him as a son.

Once he paid the entrance, he walked toward the church's interior.

Mingling with other tourists, Bruce admired the frescoes, noted the architecture and read plaques. His eyes kept wandering randomly through the huge place attentively, until he recognized a solitary figure staring at south nave's wall. He approached carefully, not wanting to disturb the old man, who seemed fully unaware of his surroundings, completely immersed in contemplating an artwork in gilded limestone.

"'Annunciation' by Donatello. 1435. Carved it out of _pietra serena_," he stated nonchalantly. "Likely he was the first sculptor to depict this scene with such drama."

"With charming elegance and sincere reverence," Alfred added with his Cockney accent, without looking back. His voice was calm and steady, trying to hide the emotions behind his words.

There was moment of silence before Alfred could finally turn around and see the face of his no longer death employer.

"You seem to have a strange taste for coming back and forth from dead, Sir," the older man said, trying to not let his voice rise as his emotions were on edge.

"Oh, Alfred, I'm glad to see you too," he said with a hint of humour in his voice. "I know you're ecstatic that I've finally given you a chance to catch a glimpse of what you've always dreamed for me."

"Well, Sir, go ahead and consider me ecstatic that you've awarded me with my most cherished wish. Really. Look at this pearly smile," Alfred said sarcastically.

Bruce chuckled. "Funny. Really funny. I think I deserved that."

"It's not funny at all. Not after all the sleepless nights and senseless pain I've endured because of you! I've thought you were gone," Alfred said in exasperation. "Forever."

"Me too," Bruce replied flatly, his smile faded.

"I feared for you, Master Bruce, but I told myself it was not my problem any more. You had chosen your course. But I'm happy you're here and doing well," Alfred said, looking at him with soft indulgence, but with a shadow of sadness.

"I'm really sorry, Alfred," he whispered, touched by his reaction. "It was never my intention to hurt you. You are so important to me..." his voice trailed off. "You've always just wanted to protect me."

The older gentleman sighed as tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

"Come, Master Bruce. Shouldn't we be shaking hands and exchanging embraces?"

Bruce grinned widely as his old friend pulled him into a tight embrace, clapping his hands against his back.

"And what about the birthday young man?" Alfred asked curious, glancing around.

"They're hanging around and waiting for us to join them later."

"By them you're meaning he and Miss Tate, I suppose?"

"Exactly, Alfred," he said with a gentle smile.

They started to walk as Alfred broke the brief silence.

"For a while I've thought I would never be able to see a new generation of Waynes. I've had scarcely dared hope."

"So have I," Bruce admitted. "And considering the circumstances which I've found out I have a son..." he paused and added, "It may sound cheesy but I'm starting to believe in destiny. I mean, if all those things had not happened I'd never know about my own child."

_Did that things happen for a reason? That they… are happening for a reason?_

That was a question that Bruce asked himself many times over; was what he was doing all part of some predetermined plan set by the hands of someone, something, greater than them?

"What I don't understand is why Miss Tate never told you about it and why she gave the boy up for adoption. You might had not been in Gotham sixteen years ago, but I was. I'd never have rejected a child of yours."

"I know Alfred," Bruce reassured him. "Miranda was afraid of what might happen with our child. She claims she just wanted to protect him."

"Protect him from whom?" the older man asked curious.

Bruce let out a deep breath before answering.

"From her father..."

"Her father? I've thought Casper Tate had died when Miss Miranda was a child..."

Bruce realized Alfred knew more about Miranda than he had known for years.

"Casper was her adoptive father. She was afraid of her biological one." _Rã's al Ghul_, he added mentally, but he did not want to reveal the whole truth to Alfred. It would devastate the old man.

"Why?" the butler inquired.

"He was a very dangerous man. A criminal. It's a long story but the most important is he's not a threat anymore. He's already dead." _And I was the responsible for that_, he mused.

They reached a cozy and small secret garden designed by Brunelleschi.

A hope filled Alfred as he glanced at the garden. Perhaps it was all over, now. Perhaps the Master had finally set his pain aside and would simply devote himself to business and building a family. Maybe one day he might hear again baby's cries echoing throughout the Manor.

He looked Bruce up and down and the sharpness was back in his smile, just that fast. "So you and Miss Tate..."

Bruce blinked in surprise. He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again and frowned.

"Honestly, I'm not sure what to say here," he said in an even voice. _I don't know where I stand in her life. One minute she seems to want me and we act like we are lovers. The next she can't get away from me fast enough and she's cold, like I'm some random stranger, _he added in thought.

"And I was expecting to hear the sound of wedding bells," the old gentleman conceded.

Bruce's lips tightened. "Close your book of fairy tales, Alfred."

"No one can ever accuse an old man of not mooning. I've thought it would be the next logical step once you two had a child."

"Spare me. Seriously. I have no intention of getting married," his voice sounded a little bit rough. "The fact that we could recover our son doesn't change anything between us. We're just looking for Damian's best interests," he concluded.

Alfred noticed a certain frustration in Bruce's words and tried to change the subject slightly.

"Do you intend to go back to Gotham, Sir?"

"Lately, I've never really thought about it," he admitted, then just looked down, seeming to focus hard on his shoes. "Sorry to disappoint you again, but Bruce Wayne is dead. And unless something that requires his presence happens, he's not coming back."

Alfred's mood changed from cheery to grumpy.

"And what do you do for a living?"

"Until I have to get an honest job, I'm making use of some personal savings," Bruce replied, serene.

"Very well," Alfred put an end to that topic of conversation. Still, he wanted to speak with him about so many things. About what really had happened months ago. He wanted explanations on how Bruce had found out about Damian and why Batman had been absent for most of the time Gotham had been under siege.

Bruce answered all his questions as they continued their tour, taking care to omit any mention of Miranda's betrayal and her connections with the League of Shadows. He wanted to spare the old man from knowing about it. After all he cared a lot about her.

After having explored the majority of the enormous Basilica set, Bruce checked his watch and realized he did not have much time to buy Damian's gift.

"What do you give a teenager these days?" he asked, unreliable.

"I have no idea, Sir. But I think a gift certificate wouldn't be appropriate, nor exciting," Alfred said with amusement.

"Come. I think I have an idea," Bruce declared as they prompted to the exit.

* * *

_**Piazza del Duomo, Florence, Tuscany, Italy**_

After a tiring and relentless search they had finally found the perfect gift. Bruce was hoping Miranda would not get so mad on him and was counting on Damian's and Alfred's support. He knew the kid would be ecstatic.

Meanwhile, Damian and Miranda were waiting for them at the outside seating area of a small restaurant in front of the Duomo Square. The Piazza was crowded, yet was providing an enchanting view of the great Duomo. Hidden behind an iron gateway, the restaurant was a very pleasant place for lunch and there was a gelateria next door where they could enjoy an amazing ice cream for dessert.

Miranda should be euphoric, but she couldn't help feeling thoroughly down, like she was missing something – a misguided frustration that naturally accompanied the unresolved search for closure. She managed to hide her emotions successfully, not letting her son notice that there was something bothering her.

The kid – who was not really a chatty kind of guy – was more talkative than ever and she was grateful because it meant she did not have to say much.

It was just a few minutes after they had arrived when Damian's cell phone rang. It was Bruce asking about where they were. The boy informed him and minutes later, both men were approaching their table alongside a dark creature – a big dog.

Damian's smile grew wider as Miranda's eyes almost popped out of her head when she saw the animal. She had nothing against pets but giant dogs took a lot of patience and space.

"You did it! You bought him!" Damian exclaimed, rising from his seat and running towards the black German Shepard/ Great Dane mix. Ignoring his father and Alfred, he kneeled before the dog and petted his head.

"Thought it'll be a nice break and you've deserved him," Bruce pointed out and added, "Happy Birthday, Damian."

"Thank you, dad," the boy said, getting on his feet and welcoming Bruce's hug. "I've always wanted to have a dog."

'Dad' was still an awkward word between them. However, Bruce liked how it sounded and Damian was getting used to it.

_So this was how it felt to have a child… a son, _Bruce thought.

"Happy Birthday, Master Damian," the older man stated, "may you have many more to come."

"Thanks, Alfred."

"I have something for you. I hope you like it," Alfred said as he gave him a small package wrapped in colorful paper.

Damian immediately opened it and saw it was a book – The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

"It was your father's favourite when he was your age."

"Thank you. I really like detective stories. I am a huge fan of the Sherlock Holmes series," Damian conceded.

Miranda rose from her seat and turned to Alfred, taking him up in a tight embrace.

"It's good to see you again, Alfred."

"It's always a pleasure to see you too, Miss Miranda"

While they all settled into their seats, Miranda glanced at the dog and could not avoid making an acidic comment.

"You've got a pony to ride, huh?" She did not mean to hurt her son, instead her censure was thrown directly at Bruce. "I don't think they allow animals in restaurants, Bruce. Except for service animals. Seeing eye dogs and such."

"Oh! So there could be a seeing-eye dinosaur in here? That would be brilliant!" he joked, looking straight to her eyes. "We're at an outside area. They'll allow us to keep the dog," he decreed harshly. "And where are your gift item?" he asked bluntly.

His tone infuriated her. She went pale and flinched. But before she was able to give a proper answer, Damian intervened.

"Thanks guys," he said, smiling embarrassed. "This isn't a gift contest. And mom already gave me a lot of gifts."

The tension was palpable as Miranda's and Bruce's body language spoke volumes.

_Good,_ Bruce thought. _At least this proved she's daring to tap into emotion again._

"I'll give you your gift later, sweetheart," she said gently, turning to Damian. "At a more appropriate time and place."

The young man nodded, took a moment to look at each of his parents and turned to Alfred.

"Can we make our requests?"

"I can't think of anything I'd like more," Alfred said eagerly.

After making their requests to the waiter, Bruce turned to Damian, who was getting acquainted with the dog.

"The lady from the kennel said his imposing appearance belies his friendly nature. The breed's often referred to as a gentle giant."

"How much more will he grow?" the teenager asked.

"She said he's just hitting seven months now, so possibly seventy pounds and another six to seven inches."

"Guess he'll need his own bedroom then," Damian said, smiling brightly as his mother rolled her eyes.

Grinning, Bruce looked at her and then back to Damian, twinkling at him.

They turned towards her at the same time, father and son, the truth stamped so indelibly on both sets of features that the shock of it sent her heart into a flurry of frightened hammer-blows. Even worse was seeing the way in which Damian immediately exchanged looks with Bruce when she let out a reticent sigh.

The meal was made in relative peace, punctuated by small talk. The dog behaved in an acceptable way and soon they were done.

After a quick visit to an ice cream parlor, they said goodbye to Alfred – who returned to his hotel – and went back to the villa.

Miranda did not speak on the ride back. It would have been impossible anyway against the noise of the dog and the men's conversation.

* * *

_**San Cappano, Villa around Florence, Tuscany, Italy**_

Moments later, they were back at the historic manor house.

Damian headed toward the back yard with his dog alongside as his parents entered the house in silence. They were greeted by Angelo, who quickly addressed Miranda about one of her solicitations.

"Signorina(1) Miranda, the cake is ready," the chef announced, leading them to the dinner room.

"Grazie(2), Angelo," she replied, smiling at his perfect pastry masterpiece placed on top of the decorated dinner table.

"You're welcome, signorina."

Bruce could not resist the temptation to make a comment about the chef's work.

"It looks like yummy! Congratulations, Angelo. You did an incredible work."

"Thank you, signore(3). It's a pleasure to cook for someone who enjoys my food," the blonde cook said proudly. "Here," he gestured towards some pastries samples displaying on a wire rack. "Try one and give me your verdict."

Both bit into a cake sample and Miranda moaned with genuine appreciation.

"Oh, please! This is sublime!" she declared.

"Truly, Angelo. I've never tasted anything this good in my life before," Bruce agreed. _Except Miranda's lips_, he added in thought. "What is it?"

Angelo blossomed, "Dark chocolate batter filled with vanilla almond ganache."

"Well, you seem to have things planned out," Bruce said as he turned to Miranda and took another nibble of pastry.

"I always do," she replied flatly. "Now if you excuse me I'm going to find my son."

She turned away and trudged toward the back yard, leaving him behind.

* * *

"Sorry if I ruined your birthday," Miranda said as she witnessed Damian growing quite fond of the dog. "I didn't mean to be... How do you guys say? – A pain in the ass."

Watching Damian with Bruce earlier, she had had to admit against her will how alike they were – not just in looks but somehow in temperament and mannerisms as well. It was as though being with his father had brought to life that proud aristocratic male inheritance that was so much a part of Bruce's personality. No one seeing them together earlier could have doubted that they were father and son. But what had surprised her most of all, when they had met at the Piazza, had been the unexpected but totally natural way in which Bruce had hugged his son, and Damian, who was normally so wary of being touched, had hugged him back. For a handful of seconds watching them together she had actually felt shut out and excluded.

"You didn't ruin it at all," he said, before glancing up to meet her gaze. "I'm happy to share my birthday with you all."

A soft smile was growing upon his lips. On moments like these, he seemed to be just a child.

She smiled back, kneeled next to the dog and ran her hands over his fur. The giant pet promptly accept her caress.

"Did you name him?"

Damian turned slightly as his hand was being licked under the long tongue of the German Shepard/ Great Dane who whimpered at his side. "I named him Titus," Damian murmured, pulling his arm away from the contact.

"After the Shakespeare's character?" she asked curious.

"Yep. It's a strong name. I guess it suits him just fine."

To his surprise, she gave a laugh, leaned over the dog and said, "Hey boy, looks like you already have a name."

She fussed behind the pet ears and smiled at him. Titus panted in return.

"Would you mind leaving him aside for a few moments? I have something to give you," she asked.

"Sure," he answered. "Titus. Stay. Here," he instructed as they stood to their feet and went to the house's interior.

Bruce watched everything from a distant window. He secretly wished she would be that tender with him too.

* * *

Reaching the house's library, Miranda opened a safe and pulled out a long package wrapped in dark cloth.

Carefully removing the cloth, she handed Damian a sword – whose blade was covered by a protective leather scabbard. She got off the scabbard and showed Damian, whose eyes got huge. There, before him, was a gleaming japanese katana that weighed in his hands. Damian stared in wonder.

"It belonged to my father and was forged by a great swordsmith from the East, many, many years ago," she stated, her accent became even more pronounced. "You have the heart – the soul – of a warrior and I couldn't imagine anybody else to have it. Use it well and with wisdom," she was shedding tears.

Damian looked into her teary eyes, then back to the sword. He looked like anxious.

Although, Damian knew her biological father had had some kind of link with the League of Shadows, Miranda never told him he had been the man known as Rã's al Ghul or she once had been named Talia – Talia al Ghul, when she had been under the League's teaching and upbringing.

"What is wrong?" she asked, putting her hands around his.

"Nothing," he told her. "I don't know what to say except that it's an honor. I can't thank you enough, mom," he murmured with a blush.

Miranda chuckled. "And you'll never have to." She stepped up to give him a kiss on his cheek but broke off as Bruce entered the room and Damian turned to him.

"Look," he told his father, showing him his gift. "Mother gave to me. Isn't it beautiful?"

He recognized Ducard's sword – Rã's al Ghul's sword. "Indeed." The deep and very masculine voice was like a rasp on metal.

Damian looked both upset and mortified, reacting to Bruce's clearly disapproval with far more concern that he ever did to anybody else in his entire life.

"I was just on my way to look for you," Bruce told her, ignoring his son's reaction. "We have something to discuss."

"Do we?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Excuse me. I'm going to keep this upstairs." Quickly realizing what was going on between his parents, Damian decided on a strategic exit. He had no intention of witnessing any fight of them.

As soon the two found themselves alone and were out of earshot, Bruce spoke, with a harshly critical edge to his voice. "What did you think you were you doing?"

His voice tone startled her and Miranda got her backbone straight.

Ignoring her own obvious discomfort, she stepped up and asked breezily, "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't play coy with me, Talia," he stressed the last word.

Miranda frowned. "I have no clue what you're asking about. And I believe there's not any subject I need to discuss with you. And please don't call me that," this time it was she who stressed the last word.

"You're still so pissed about the dog I purchased to him that you gave Damian that sword – Rã's's sword," he guessed. "I didn't mean to wage a war when I gave him a pet. Was that wise? A responsible mother..."

She cut him off. "You had no right to speak to me like that. I gift him with what I want or think it'll please him. He's my son."

"And mine," Bruce told her calmly. "I saw the DNA results and they show that quite clearly."

Her heart did a double somersault, sending the blood pounding through her veins. Treacherously, shockingly, in a series of unwanted flashbacks, images of the intimacy they had shared to create Damian played in front of her eyes. She could even feel the emotions she had felt then – the excitement, the longing, the need to be wanted that had been so intense it had driven her to delude herself that she was wanted, that she mattered. Pain as cruelly stabbing and merciless as it had been then gripped her again. In many ways she might have been the cause of her own misfortune, but Bruce could have treated her more gently.

"There is no need for you to tell me the identity of my son's father," she informed him grimly.

She was like a small soft-boned cat, spitting and hissing her anger as a defence measure, Bruce recognised inwardly. And, like that cat, would she also purr warmly with delight when she was stroked and pleasured? The way in which his body reacted to that question was like a shockwave of tidal proportions, re-awakening emotions and needs he had thought long suppressed by his self-control.

"That sword had shed too much bad blood," he told her. "How could you give him something so dangerous like that."

Something snapped inside her. "You've got the nerve to censure me this way. If I'm not mistaken you gave him full access to your arsenal and you're worried about an old family souvenir I did?"

Bruce winced at her statement but before he could speak anything she kept saying, "He didn't told me anything. I only had a suspicion and you've just confirmed it by your reaction," then she added, "I must confess I've got annoyed by your initiative to give him a giant dog regardless of my opinion, but I'd already made my mind on what gifting him. A family heritage seemed logical. Despite what you think about my deceased father, he was my father, my blood, my family and I loved him very much...," her voice became a whisper and it was silent for a few seconds.

"But you'll forgive me for not trusting your intentions," he said despondently. "Old habits die hard."

She had suffered dreadfully, and now he was judging her yet again. Her anger was urging her to defend herself by letting him know just how wrong his judgement of her was, driving her into a recklessly fierce.

"What are you meaning?" she asked, furious. "That I have some kind of secret agenda? That I'm trying to bring my son to the dark side? Don't worry, my intentions are better than turning him into a masked vigilante, I suppose."

_Ouch!_

"Be honest, please. Can I trust you?" he asked, trying to defend himself.

He wouldn't live through another betrayal, his heart wouldn't stand for it.

"That's up to you," she replied, feeling herself exhausted.

His eyes narrowed regrettably. But before he could say something to make amends, a shocked male voice said, "Signor! Signorina! That giant fur ball broke into the house and nearly destroyed the cake."

The blonde italian chef was hysterical.

"Calm down, Angelo," Bruce told him. "I'm sure it's nothing we can handle."

The trio made their way to the dinner room, ready to find the scariest of all sights. However, they found Damian managing Titus, trying to avoid more damage.

"Surprise! Surprise," he said sheepish.

"That's supposed to be our line," Bruce spoke, "I guess."

"Never mind," Miranda interjected. "Angelo, go and fetch a knife or something else to spread this cake."

"Sì(4), signorina."

But before he could reach the kitchen, she added, "And bring a bottle of the best Prosecco we have, please."

_I need something to soothe my mood_, she mused.

Soon, Angelo returned with the items she asked for.

"Do you mind?" she asked Bruce and pointed to the bottle, as a mere demonstration of ceasefire between them.

Bruce opened the sparkling wine bottle in style, pulling cheers from Damian and Angelo. He filled the flutes and handed one to each of them.

"I haven't felt so good for such a long time." The teenager blushed, noticing him blunt admission had cast a shadow over the faces of the rest of them. "To new beginnings," he added brightly, determined to restore the mood again as he raised his glass in a toast.

"To you, Damian," Bruce and Miranda chorused warmly, exchanging the briefest of glances before clinking glasses with him and Angelo.

"Sweetheart, you're underaged. So just drink a little gulp, okay?" Miranda warned him.

"Okay, mom," he assured her, smiling warmly.

As Angelo distributed the pieces of cake, Bruce looked at all of them.

_Together again at last! _

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he felt a sting of pain and regret in his heart. There would always be things he would regret, or wished he had done instead. But he knew he could not keep thinking like that anymore. Living in the past would just poison his – their – future.

* * *

(1) Ms.

(2) Thank you.

(3) Mr./ Sir

(4) Yes


	3. 2 Prodigal

_Read and review, please._

* * *

**II - Prodigal**

_**Remote Beach, Gotham outskirts, Few days earlier**_

The night had vanished, giving place to a rose-colored dawn. No one was there on the beach or in the immediate area except for three solitary figures.

Kneeling in the surf, a frightened man was pleading for his life, "Please, it won't happen again, Mr. C."

"I'm sure it won't," a mysterious and gentle male voice could be heard over the waves and wind. The slight british accent was acquired through the years he had lived in the Queen's land. Dressed like a lord – a black vicuña double-breasted overcoat and an elegant top hat – the mysterious gentleman never looked like a threatener. His demeanor was kind, philosophical, almost a shrink's probing bedside manner.

Demonstrating his power, he made a gesture with his head and a young thug, with a pistol, executed the kneeled man. The body fell like a heavy sack of flour, splashing the water audibly with its mass. Blood mixed with the salt water slowly.

"Jeez, he fell funny," the young thug said.

A second thug moved forward with an axe in his hand.

The mysterious gentleman waved at them and left the crime scene silently, heading towards a limo, as his henchmen took care of the dead body.

Once inside the limo, Oswald 'Ozzy' Chesterfield Cobblepot ordered the driver, "Palisades, Frank. I've got to see something."

The driver started the engine and Oswald glanced through the window.

_They go about their business. One traitor down_, he thought.

* * *

_**Cobblepot Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

It was only a thirty-minute drive from the beach to the manor.

As the car swept through the overgrown and untidy gardens to the front of the estate, Oswald tried not to be impressed but that was almost impossible.

_What am I doing here?_

The question rolled around in his mind as he stepped outside the car and looked at abandoned and forgotten property. The house itself had changed very much in more than forty years. Now was just reduced to shambles.

Despite the trip-hammer beating of his heart, he held himself straight. His mother had never permitted slumped shoulders. Chin up, shoulders straight, he started up the walk.

The Cobblepots had been an aristocratic family whose lineage goes back to Newcastle, England and had been on Gotham City for many, many generations. Alongside the Elliotts, the Kanes and the Waynes, they built the city.

An old legend had said that in the late 1800's, Chesterfield Cobblepot – the first Cobblepot in the USA – immigrated to Gotham City with stolen goods, including the Tudor Royal Diamonds. The next generations had married well and accumulated great wealth and it had showed.

_What am I doing here?_ he thought again, reaching the top of the broad marble front steps. Like the property, he had changed.

He wanted to believe he was doing the right thing. Coming back. _Not home_, he mused. He had no idea if this was home. Or even if he wanted it to be.

Yet if he turned away now, ran away now, he would never have the chance of have a glimpse of the life he once had had.

He had been barely three when he had left – when his father were exposed as a crook and had been taken him and his mother from a wealthy life to live overseas.

By the age of thirteen, Oswald was sent to a prestigious boarding school where he had been mocked for his short size and homely, hunched-over appearance. He had taken to skipping class to go hang around criminals and, in doing so, had picked up quite a colorful education.

When his family had hit hard times and squandered the rest of their fortune, Oswald had immersed himself deeper in a criminal education on the streets of London.

Coming here, awakening old hurts and old memories, wasn't part of the plan.

He remembered his father – Stanley Cobblepot – sinking the family fortune into one after another risk business. The death blow came when he had invested all his money to open a hotel chain to compete against the one owned by Wayne family.

Managing his business from across the Atlantic had not been easy or practical. The Wayne family hotel chain had been – and still was – very successful while the Cobblepot chain had not.

Then Stanley had committed suicide when Oswald had been a teenager, forcing him and his mother to support themselves. They had started from the ground and opened a very small restaurant, after all, people would always need for food.

After witnessing the kill of three thugs by Russian mobster, Oswald had decided to provide another human need: firearms. And so he had started his career as black market gunrunner.

Now, as the apparent sole surviving member of the Cobblepot legacy, he was coming back to his hometown and to a fallen into ruin estate.

Forcing the front door entrance, he walked into a large dark hall, looking around until he finally heard something.

_Birds_. Lots of them were making their nests inside the huge house.

Pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket , he protect his nose from the dust and took a breath.

He loved birds and his favourite hobby was ornithology. Birds tended to be symbols for freedom because of their natural extinct and ability of flight.

_Maybe it's an omen, after all._

He crossed the main hall and examined the imposing area. For a brief moment, Oswald imagined how that place must have been in its former glory days. Images, dozens of them, raced into his mind. Wild parties, beautiful women, expensive Champagne filling up the flutes, live music, wealthy and power people wandering through the rooms resounded with laughter.

In that moment he made a solemn vow. He would devote himself into restoring the glory and respect of the Cobblepot name. He would seek revenge against those who had been responsive for his father's bankruptcy; against those who had been turned his surname into mud.

With a sigh, he turned away to the exit.

* * *

_**Iceberg Lounge Main Office, Lyntown, Gotham City**_

"_The prodigal son is back. The city of Gotham is buzzing over it, passing fact, rumor and innuendo from one to another, the way the guests at a boarding house pass bowls of steaming stew," _ the beautiful presenter announced. "_My name's Summer Gleeson and today in our Rich, Famous & Gorgeous presentment, we're gonna check out Oswald Cobblepot profile – the new addition to Gotham's finest list."_

"Mr. C." His PA's voice was hesitant. "Please, excuse me for interrupting you, but... "

Light, displeased eyes flashed up at her from the man seated behind the imposing mahogany desk. Raven Masters quailed.

"I said no interruptions, Miss Masters for any reason whatsoever." The deep, accented voice was brusque. For a fraction of a section the forbidding gaze admonished her, then simply cut her out of existence, returning his attention to the giant flat television screen set over a wooden panel.

"_That's it, Summer," _said the other female announcer. "_Gossipers on duty are expecting for a rich broth, spiced with scandal, sex and secrets. However, they aren't gonna get anything like that."_

In the doorway, Raven Masters hesitated, then, visibly steeling herself, spoke again.

"I understand, sir. But...but he said the call was urgent..."

"Miss Masters," he said, without taking his eyes of the television. His voice was soft – so soft it raised the hairs on his PA's neck. "Can't you see I'm really busy right now?"

"_Cobblepot came back after almost forty-five years and he has plans to stay for good. His extravagant nightclub – the Iceberg Lounge – was successfully launched last night and reunited a bunch of rich, famous and gorgeous guests."_

As the announcer kept speaking, images of the night before flashed through the screen, showing the red carpet in front of the new nightclub crowded with celebrities.

"_But before 'Ozzy' could be able to enjoy the success of his newest endeavor, rumours has been burning up the he might to run for mayor of Gotham City." _

"_Why shouldn't he_?" smiling, an important shipping company owner declared to the reporter when he was asked about what he was thinking about the rumours. "_He was born here, wasn't he? And after this city had been nearly wiped out by a terrorist group, he – like many other responsible Gothamites – felt the need to rebuild and protect their hometown."_

"_Well, yeah_," the reporter insisted, "_but he's been gone for so long. Only came back for a few months ago and just wishes to become the king of the hill.._." but she was cut off by the businessman.

"_Oswald is a great entrepreneur and has lots of willpower to make this city a better place to live. If he's gonna decide to run, he already has my vote._"

Then, Summer Gleeson returned alive from the studio and called the commercials, promising more of Oswald's backstory when she would return.

His PA swallowed hard and cleared her throat. She remained in the doorway all the time. "Mr. C.," she attempted a third time, "it's Mr. Walters on the line. He says it's very important to speak to you," she added quickly, as Oswald stilled and turned his head again. His light eyes levelled on her. "It's in connection, he says, with your special shipment."

Her last words got his attention.

"Fine, pass the call to my phone."

She nodded and exited his office. Seconds later he picked up his phone.

"Cobblepot," he stated.

"At last," Russell Waters replied. "We have a situation at the harbor. Someone called in anonymous tip that your precious cargo isn't what you claim it is. Port authority are mistrustful."

"Find an excuse," Cobblepot ordered. "You know how to do it very well. If it won't work, make an offer to who is the charge. Everybody has a price."

"I'm not sure, Mr. C. These cops and inspectors don't seem to be the type of guys who like to be bribed."

"Russell," Oswald started patiently, as he was talking to a child, "there's nothing to worry about. The Dent Act doesn't exist anymore. Even the Bat-Man doesn't exist anymore. Things went back as before. Making these kind of business never had been so easy. Gotham City became a hotbed for all type of illicit activities again."

"But..." Waters hesitated, but before he could add more, Oswald demurred.

"Trust me, Russell. If you think your boss is stupid, remember: you wouldn't have a job if he was any smarter."

"Right, sir. I see what I'll can do."

"Good."

"Have a nice day, boss."

"So do you," Oswald replied, turned off the phone and let out a sigh.

"They're not going to get me," he thought aloud, then rose from his seat and headed toward his private bar. He poured whiskey in a glass filled with ice and gulped the amber liquid.

Smiling, he mused to himself. Nobody would be able to make a connection between the leader of Gotham's new emerging black market – known as 'Penguin' – and Oswald Cobblepot – the visionary entrepreneur who had taken up the duty of rebuild the city and pumping money into economy.

_People are going to love me._

In a short time – using his knowledge of the criminal world and his own savvy – Oswald managed to establish several successful businesses on both sides of the law, and then opened the Iceberg Lounge to try to establish himself as a member of high society.

Buying weapons from overseas and selling them at a reasonable price to whoever needed them in Gotham had become a big business. With many crime bosses put away by Harvey Dent and the police, and desperate people seeking protection after Gotham's siege by terrorists, Penguin would reign absolute in town.

The plan was following as it expected and soon he would be able to launch his most ambitious project.

He turned his attention to the television screen again. The TV show was making a recap from his lineage, his family and his businesses. Lastly, the announcer commented:

"_Though no one really knows where he has gotten the money to do so._"

"Hard work, darling. And a good radar for businesses," he replied to the screen. "Time to make next move."

He pressed the intercom button and called his PA.

"Miss Masters, make a call to Senator Lieberman."

"Right now, sir."

Seconds later, Senator Lieberman was on the line.

"Senator, how have you been? I've considered your bid. I'm going to run for mayor of Gotham."


	4. 3 Standing Tall And Facing It All

_Read and review, please.**  
**_

* * *

**III - Standing Tall And Facing It All Together**

_**San Cappano, Villa around Florence, Tuscany, Italy**_

"I... W-We should stop." Francesca Ruggiero, the saucy and intoxicant daughter of the gardener's Villa, breathed out between rapid kisses.

"Why?" Damian asked distractedly. He kept standing between her slightly parted legs. His hands held her hips firmly preventing her to move from that position.

"Someone can bust us," she answered, even as she pressed herself closer to him and deepened the light caress of their lips.

Damian hummed into the kiss as his fingers slipped under the hem of Fran's dress, giving no indication that he actually cared about what the eighteen girl was saying.

"Don't care, I need you right now" he breathed out and did not seem to have a care in the world as he moved his hands along the sloped curves of her waist and laid teasing kisses on her bare shoulder.

"Seriously, DJ, we could get caught," she began to speak again after pulling herself back for a breath. Her accent was now more pronounced.

He pulled back slightly and looked directly into her eyes, but kept one hand stroking the inner of her thigh.

"By who?"

Fran inhaled sharply and answered, "My father. Your parents. The servants..."

"Suddenly worried about Fran?" he laughed humorlessly as he trailed his lips along her jawline and down to her dainty neck. Pressing one final kiss on her pulse point, he finally ended his lustful attack on her willing body. "C'mon, babe. A moment ago you were looking like you wanted me so badly..."

"We must be careful, don't you think?" she whispered back.

"We haven't seen anyone since we got here. Besides everyone seems to be busy today. No one's gonna miss us for a while," Damian pointed out, grinning, before he captured her bottom lip between his own. "Let's have our blissful... perfect... private... _corteggiamento,_(1)" he suggested, between kisses.

Needless to say all thoughts of the abandoned cot not being the safest place to make out were wiped from her mind and, without a second thought, Fran lunged forward and kissed Damian passionately, her fingers tangling into his dark hair to pull him closer.

Despite his surprise, Damian did not argue against the movement and, when he felt her tongue tracing his bottom lip, he willingly allowed her access. A contented sigh escaped him when Fran's tongue came into contact with his own and in an almost subconscious movement, her hands dropped to his buttocks to firmly pull him close.

Damian deepened the kiss, wondering how insanely unlucky and stupid they would have to be to be caught without hearing anyone coming.

They thought they heard Titus' barking but the noise came to a complete, sudden stop.

"Damian?"

At the sound of Bruce's baritone voice coming from not so far, both teenagers froze in shock mid-kiss. They did not move for a couple of long seconds and stared at each other until Damian finally growled and cursed under his breath. They pulled apart and got to their feet very quickly.

"I've told you so," she whispered as trying to make her clothes look less dishevelled.

Damian went to the door and opened it, posing a faint smile.

"Hey, I'm right here," Damian declared.

His father went through the door and spotted Francesca, which caused her to take a step forward and smile in welcome, trying to ignore how her stomach clenched in sickness.

Bruce looked quite confused by the situation while Damian stood still, staring at nowhere.

"Signorina Ruggiero..." he began and his gaze flicked between his son and the young italian. He noticed how her face was blushing.

"Buongiorno, Signor Tate(2)," she said quickly, taking a small step forward.

"Your father is looking for you," Bruce told her quietly. He felt Damian flinching at the statement and instantly felt the urge to laugh but contented himself to a interior chuckle. Mr. Ruggiero was a typical Italian macho-man and would seek to restore his daughter's honor one way or another.

"Well, maybe I should just go then…" she hesitated and added, "Ciao, DJ.(3)"

The young man nodded merely looking sympathetic as she got out from the small cot, leaving father and son behind.

* * *

Moments earlier, Bruce had gone out for a quick walk around the property. Making small talk with the servants he had met along the way, he never had lingered on it himself, and his conversation had been always so varied and lively that his company was quite welcome.

Reaching a small cottage set several feet away from the main house, he spotted Titus standing guard in front of the place, which was used primarily as a storage facility.

_What is he doing here alone?_ he mused.

He felt that was all very suspicious and, when he came up and the dog started to bark, he decided to call Damian. The kid replied after a long pause, opening the cot's door and revealing himself. His face was a mask of stone, showing no emotion, but his eyes betrayed his feelings. Shame mixed with a hint of annoyance filled his gaze.

Surprise seized him when he came to the doorway and realized his son was not alone. The gardener's daughter – Francesca – was with him. He examined the girl's face, who was clearly feeling disconcerted as he spoke to her. It did not take a genius to realize what was going on in there.

Although Bruce had been travelling under the alias of 'Charles Malone', he made no effort to correct her when she called him as 'Signor Tate' and greeted him politely. Many servants of the Villa assumed that Tate was also his last name, since Miranda had made all the necessary arrangements and was paying for their sojourn. He kept his gaze directly on each one but didn't give the impression of being berating them. He did not want to appear to be given to do hasty judgements.

However, as soon as the young italian left, he turned to Damian and asked him bluntly, "What the hell was going on here, buddy?"

Damian did not really know how to answer to that embarrassing question and put himself on defensive.

"It's not what it looks like…" he said quickly. He saw Bruce knitting his brow at the statement and instantly added, "No wait…I mean it obviously is what you think but…It's not at the same time."

"Would you care to elaborate, young man?" Bruce asked tersely though his voice quivered with sternly.

Damian was caught off guard by his father's paternalistic attitude.

"We just got to first base... hmm... Okay, maybe second," he hesitated and continued, "Oh, gimme a break. It seems you've never spent some time with a girl, kissing her with some heavy petting. You were known to be a great playboy," he uttered the last words gesturing toward Bruce.

"Do you lost your mind?" the older man retorted. "You're barely sixteen and this girl's... She is what? Twenty? Besides, somebody else but me could have busted you two. Perhaps your mother – or worse – her father."

"Oh, please. Don't patronize me," the kid said, a little bit annoyed. "She's eighteen and she's leaving for Art's college next fall. It's been just a summer infatuation. Nothing more."

But Damian knew that it was not just those things that Bruce was guessing. His father was not aware of their relationship so he kept staring at him in pure disbelief.

"If you want to have the birds and bees conversation it's too late," he told Bruce quietly. "I've already know babies come from storks," he concluded in a conciliatory tone, smirking.

Bruce shook his head as if what he was listening was some kind of trick and then grinned. The boy got the nerve of making jokes.

_Hormones and teenagers._ By his own experience he knew it was a powerful and, sometimes, dangerous combination.

"You," Bruce started, pointing the finger at Damian's face, "you're such a lucky son of a gun." The smile turned into a light laugh. "If it had been somebody else you would be screwed up."

Damian smiled back.

"Don't worry. I know how to take care of myself..."

Bruce's grin faded. He knew Damian was mature for his age and looked like older than he really was, but still he was only sixteen. Almost a child – his child. It was his role as Damian's father to take care of him and make sure he would not do anything stupid.

"I know," he whispered back and then added, "You should ask her on a date. You know, a real date. Go to the movies. Get strolling around the town. Some innocent romancing. Not being sneaking around with her – foreplaying – at the risk of being caught for doing inappropriate things."

Damian blushed a little and nodded.

"Right, you're the pro here."

"I mean it. You must treat her like a lady, even if your relationship is just a '_summer infatuation_' as you've pointed out," Bruce suggested.

"Like you'd treated mom?" the kid wondered but without malice.

"Your mother deserved much more than I could give," Bruce told him without breaking eye contact. The question his son had popped up made him feeling sad. "But, except the way we parted away, I've never mistreated her and always made her feel valued and special. If I had known about you I'd had never walked away."

_I didn't even say goodbye,_ he thought. _It wasn't the ways of a gentleman, or a human being at all._

"Come," Bruce invited, putting an arm over Damian's shoulders and leading him out of the cot. "Alfred want to meet us for lunch and then make a tour through nearby towns."

"Will mom come with us?"

"No," he answered quietly, "it looks like she has a busy day today."

"Are you still mad at her? I mean 'cause the sword's stuff and all?" the teenager asked with a genuine concern.

"No," he paused, "not anymore."

"Okay."

Bruce stopped his walk and quickly grabbed Damian's arm, causing him to turn to him. The solemn tone of his voice perked his son's attention.

"Listen to me very carefully," he paused and sighed as if he was looking for the right choice of words. "That sword belonged to Rã's al Ghul, the deceased leader of the League of Shadows. Bane's same organization..."

"Mom said it was her father's," Damian interrupted him.

"Exactly. Her father was Rã's al Ghul. Many years ago, he introduced himself to me as Henri Ducard and offered me a path, a mean of doing justice. He trained me and chose me to be his second in command. When I figured out the League's true intentions, I ran away, destroyed part of their temple and went back to Gotham. Some time later he showed up in Gotham and revealed his true face. He had been the League's leader all the time and enlisted me to be part of a plan to destroy the city, using a fear toxin gas."

"I remember that incident," Damian declared.

"I had to stop them, to stop him..."

"So, you killed him?"

"No, but I didn't save him either."

_A question of semantics_, Damian mused.

"Did he know about you and his daughter?"

"Seemingly he didn't. And neither did I about their kinship." His tone became even more melancholic. There had been a time he had considered Ducard as a friend, a father figure. However, the man was a sociopath, a revenger obsessed with his cause to clean the world of crime.

_Fate tricked me. Us_, Bruce thought.

"So, I carry Batman's and Rã's al Ghul's blood in my veins. How cool and disfuncional is that?"

Bruce rolled his eyes at the boy's fun.

_Now I know why mother is... Well, what she is and why she had plotted against father,_ Damian pondered briefly. His father's revelations did not bother him.

They continued on their way home, engaged into a conversation about Alfred's plans for the day, as Titus kept following them, sniffing every corner a few feet behind.

"Hmm..." the kid halted, a little bit embarrassed. "Guess I need a long cold shower before we go. I mean... You know.."

"Oh, yeah. I know," Bruce chuckled.

* * *

By late afternoon, they got back to the Villa. Alfred chose to remain in his hotel in Florence, despite Damian's invitations to get back with them.

Bruce watched a very confident Miranda giving instructions to Angelo about dinner and thought to himself she had come a long way since he first met her as an introverted young woman just new to social skills. Now, in every aspect she was the heir of the great Rã's al Ghul and the lady of the Tate's house – witty, intelligent, nobly in the best sense of the word – but he wondered, as she answered a phone call – switching easily between English and French –, how much of it was a defense mechanism.

She was a workaholic but he loved her energy and her utter commitment to a task. And to their son. Miranda and he were made from the same mold. He recognized in her how big she was on responsibility and commitment and those were rare qualities on most people he had ever known.

He kept looking at her as she entered the library whilst gesticulated with her hands and let out a stream of angry words to the person on the end of the phone.

When she finally cut the connection she was visibly angry.

"Lawyers!" she muttered to herself in a tone redolent with disgust, still unaware of his presence.

"Is there something wrong?" his voice came from behind. Caught by surprise, Miranda turned to see him at the doorway and sighed.

"Everything is fine." She found herself postponing the moment she had to break the news that she – and probably Damian too – was leaving, that they would gonna be apart from each other again. Despite the tense moments they had shared, still, it was the first time in years that she felt as being part of a real family. However, he had made very clear that he still had not been able to fully trust her. And that hurt her.

"Look, I'm not your enemy, right? And I don't wanna be," he began. "So, what is it you're not telling me?"

"What makes you so sure there's something I'm not telling you," she asked, defiant.

"The look on your face." He stepped forward and look straight into her big blue eyes, "and the tone you've used to whoever you're speaking to."

There was no easy way to break news she knew he did not want – or need – to hear. "I need to go back to Gotham."

"Wayne Enterprises?" he guessed.

"A crisis is brewing with the reactor inquiry developments that needs my attention."

Bruce was aware of the last news involving Wayne Enterprises and Gotham City. It was hard to keep himself away from that world.

"I've already briefed my pilot to be ready to fly me and Damian to Gotham as soon as I can reasonably extricated myself from here," she poured the words.

She expected disappointment but instead he smiled.

"All right. I'm going too."

"There's no need to...", she started but he cut her off.

"Of course there is. I'm the owner of that company. I built that reactor. It's not fair to put the responsibility only over your shoulders."

"That's very kind of you, but did you forget Bruce Wayne is dead to the world? Charles Malone is who you're right now." She had a point.

"Second time to be come from the dead. The press is gonna love this. Vacation is over."

Miranda shook her head and smiled slightly then a new concern disturbed her. "Do you think Damian is gonna get upset?"

"Well, he's gonna get used to," he said and added, "just check if if they allow pets in the passenger cabin."

They both laughed and, once the laughter fully subsided, they stared to each other for just a few seconds, then quickly looked away.

"I'll make the necessary arrangements," she said at the same time he did.

"I'll inform Damian."

And so he went upstairs to have a conversation with their son.

* * *

(1) **corteggiamento** = date

(2) **Buongiorno, Signor Tate.** = Good morning, Mr. Tate.

(3) **Ciao, DJ.** = Bye, DJ.


	5. 4 The Cat Burglar

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**IV - The Cat Burglar**

_**Evening at a skyscraper, Pudong District, Shanghai, China**_

Inside a hotel grand ballroom, Chinese businessmen were hosting a reception.

Champagne servers were passing out glasses. A grey-haired Chinese businessman, Yuzhen Wang, clinked his glass. The guests – from all around the world – turned to pay attention to him.

"Ladies. Gentlemen. The Wang-Kord Corporation looks forward to many profitable days ahead. To our new manufacturing facility in Shanghai. To a new era of sustainable technology!"

As the crowd clapped, a beautiful young blonde woman was wandering through the fancy party. Her sleek and athletic body was dressed in a long high couture black gown. Even moving silent like a feline, she did not go unnoticed. Male gazes kept following her as she headed toward the kitchen area, few steps behind a champagne server.

"Hey, luv? Not so fast. Do you speak my language?" she asked seductively.

The waiter turned around. His features were not Chinese, instead he looked like a middle-eastern – maybe, Indian – man. She was not surprised. Cosmopolitan and rich cities like Shanghai attracted people from all over the world.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a thick accent, smiling.

"I'm tired of this Dom Perignon thing," she said, annoyed, pointing to her still filled flute. "Don't you guys have anything more cooler – like beer?"

"I can provide something like that, ma'am. Do you have any favourite brand?"

"Surprise me."

He smiled in return and lead her to the bar. Before they could reach it, she tripped over her own legs, visibly drunk. He prevented her to fall flat on her face, wrapping his left arm around her waist. After gaining balance, she looked at him and smiled sheepishly_._

"Oops. You're such a gentleman! Thank you."

"Ma'am, do you need some help to find your way?" he asked politely.

"Oh, yeah! Definitely," she answered, groggy.

"Are you booked in this hotel?"

"Actually, I'm one of the party's guests, but the Chef is an old acquaintance of mine. Take me to him. I'm sure he has some old recipe to cure my binge," she stated, trying to sound sober.

"Okay. This way, ma'am."

He led her by a maze of corridors and she glanced around the cramped spaces, filled with people working in full swing.

"Wow! You're taking me to a more reserved place, pretty boy," she said with an enticing smile and a husky voice.

Confused, the waiter hesitated, but before he could say something, she grabbed his hands, pulling him into a corner – out of reach of the security cameras and prying eyes – and kissed him.

The sexy blonde gave a little moan. The waiter pulled back, staring at her, his eyes blown wide and his breathing heavy.

"Ma'am, I can't do this. I'm on duty..." but she cut him off.

"Oh, c'mon. You want me too. I can see in your eyes," she pleaded. "Don't worry. It's gonna remain just between us. Like a secret," she whispered in his ear.

Without allowing time for second thoughts, she grabbed his hand, taking him into an employees' dressing room near the kitchen area. Opening and closing the door quickly, she pulled him into the unoccupied room. The young man didn't even have a chance to look around before she backed him against the wall and began to kiss him savagely.

Suddenly, the waiter let out a small moan and fell into the ground. The seductive vixen pulled back slightly, checking whether the sleeping dart she had stung him had done effect.

"Goodbye, lullaby," she whispered and quickly grabbed the man, getting him to safety.

Then she opened a small storage closet, pulling out a backpack and changed her clothes into a maid's uniform. She took off her blonde wig revealing her long dark hair, and managed to put it into a bun. Finally, she left the dressing room.

Avoiding the security cameras and keeping her head down, she picked up a cleaning cart, hid her backpack into its, moved toward the service elevators and climbed to the twenty eighth floor.

When the doors opened, she headed for one of the rooms and opened the door, using a stolen key card.

Closing the door behind her, she undressed herself, revealing a skin tight black suit. Opening her backpack, she took out some kind of mask mixed with night-vision goggles and put it. Gloves, a pair of boots and a utility-belt – all black – completed her outfit.

Reaching the window and checking her watch, she replayed the plan mentally.

_Let's do this._

* * *

Meanwhile, several stories below, a Chinese security man was sitting at his guard station, watching _Super Girl _– a Chinese version of _American Idol _– on a small television.

* * *

Twenty stories up, outside the skyscraper, two hands gripped the nooks of the exterior architecture. The woman in a black catsuit reached the exact floor with the aid of a wire rope. She produced a diamond cutter from her 'claws' and began carving a human-sized aperture in the window. Then she kicked at the cut section of window, pushing it into the building and plunging inside after it. Miraculously, the piece of glass did not fall. It was stuck to her feet with suction cups.

In the lobby below, everybody was beaming, toasting, congratulating, etc., totally oblivious to the Catwoman, twenty stories up, moving silently as a ninja.

Already inside, she yanked the piece of window off her foot-mounted suction cups and rested the glass and the cups against the wall.

Two chinese security guards – armed with automatic rifles – were walking their shift. They moved down the adjacent corridor to the broken into room; one joked, the other laughed. They disappeared around a corner.

Catwoman, focused utterly, stole inside a long corridor, swiveling the cameras away so she could not be seen. She needed to reach a door at the end of the corridor, on which was engraved: WANG-KORD Corporation. At the entrance, secured in a niche, was a bronze bust of the company founder – the older Wang. A rug – an oriental runner – was extending through the length of the corridor.

She stopped cold and kneeled, lifting an edge of the rug, revealing anti-theft pressure sensors. Getting out a small spray can from her belt, she managed to produce a special smoke. Pushing her night-vision goggles onto her head – making them appear, appropriately, like pointy cat ears –, she found out the hall was filled with laser beams set to trigger the alarms when anything would touch them. She picked her way through them very cleanly, twisting and stretching her whole body extraordinarily.

Reaching the other end of the the corridor, she bumped up against the door. Her face was now right next to the door handle, over which was an electronic lock – opened only by punching a code.

She pulled out a black box from her belt. It was a really small, really powerful computer and its job was to run through every possible number combination in about a minute and a half. She wired the computer to the lock with two needle like electrode probes.

The system was activated successfully. The little computer started running through combinations of numbers. She waited, keeping her body as far as possible from the laser beams.

* * *

At the same time, chinese guards were smoking by the lobby elevator, joking, laughing. As the elevator opened, a caucasian man – with a blue name tag identifying him as part of the security team – went out with a tray in hand.

"Compliments of Mr. Wang," he announced.

Delighted by the kindness of their contractor, each of them took a glass of Champagne. Beaming, they clinked and drank.

* * *

As the computer beeped, signaling that the process was finished, Catwoman turned the door handle, pushing it and opening the door. She lunged inside a grand boardroom – filled with Chinese furniture and art – carefully. At the end of a fifty-foot mahogany table was a 12th century painting showing some cats in the garden.

Catwoman grinned at the sight and walked freely to the painting. She sighed and ripped the painting off the wall, heaving it aside.

"Sorry," she apologized to the frame.

Behind the painting, there was a safe.

Then she pulled out from her belt a small diamond-tipped drill – which despite being small, was very efficient. There was no time for high-tech. She must going to drill right through four inches of tungsten steel.

_No finesse here, people,_ she mused.

So, she started setting up the drill.

Wearing her goggles to protect her eyes, she leaned into the drill as the bit was chewing into the tungsten lock. This was a violent exercise. Sinews of metal spat out like shrapnel.

In seconds, she was through the lock. Putting the drill aside, she opened the safe. Inside it was just one object – a small box of the size of a cufflink keeper. She grabbed it and opened it.

Inside the little box was a tiny microchip. Catwoman closed the box and pocket it, preparing herself to leave and make the way around.

* * *

In the lobby elevator area, two Champagne glasses were shattered on the floor, and next to that mess the chinese guards were lying, now unconscious.

The false security team member had been gone, moving quickly toward the Wang-Kord Corporation's office. He was not a security agent, but a thief and a killer.

He stopped just outside the large corridor, which leads to the main office. His eyes sparked. He noticed there was something missing. The security cameras were swivelled away. His instinct told him he should wait a few moments, so he moved around the corner into the corridor and then inside to a random room.

Stopping short, he saw Catwoman's suction cups and the piece of glass resting aside. He decided to bide his time and wait patiently to do something.

* * *

Without any problems, Catwoman managed to get to the silent and empty room she had made her entrance. As she picked up her suction cups and got the cable and glide ready to go, a male voice came from behind her.

"Don't move."

Catwoman froze. Her eyes twitched. This was not part of the plan...

"Turn around. Slowly."

Her heart rose into her throat as she slowly turned around to face the owner of the voice. The man had a modern silenced handgun.

"On your knees, kitty cat."

She obeyed and sunk to her knees.

"Give me the box. Slowly."

She pulled out the box and tossed it to the man. He rose his handgun at Catwoman's head and smiled.

"Are you not going to check the box, smarty-pants? How do you know we are after the same thing?" She had a point.

Still targeting her head, he grabbed the box and managed to open. She took advantage of his distraction, grabbed the gun out of the man's grip and shoved him to the floor, tossing the gun into the middle of the room in between them.

He quickly rose to his feet and made an attempt to attack her but she kicked him straight in the groin without a warning. The man's eyes went wide as he doubled over in pain.

She grabbed him by his ears before bringing her knee up into his chin, the sound of the man's jaw breaking was audible in the entire room. One last roundhouse kick knocked him out.

"Fun is over, babe," she declared, grabbed the box and made a triumphant exit, without leaving a trace behind – except for the unconscious man.

She climbed to the twenty eighth floor and made the opposite path she had made before. Already as a blonde and dressed to the nines, she left the hotel and took a cab.

* * *

At his guard station, the chinese security man, who was watching TV moments before, noticed something strange in the security cameras images from the twentieth floor. He called his co workers and sounded the alarm. The police was called.

Total chaos started as everybody were running around.

As the alarm went off, the twentieth floor was suddenly filled with security guards, gun drawn. The security engineer chief, looking highly upset, popped in.

They entered the room, catching the male thief – who was lying unconscious on the floor – almost in act. They took him to be arrested.

* * *

Minutes later, the cab left the mysterious woman in a quite shabby neighborhood. She took off her wig, contact lenses and the fake latex skin that replicated another person's prints. Then tossed them all into a trash can over the street.

Putting her backpack over her shoulders, she went the rest of the way on foot, walking through dark and silent streets.

* * *

_**A British Airways 747 in flight from Shanghai to London, First Class section**_

A beautiful and young redhead woman went down the aisle, freshly exited from the restroom. She approached the seat of a man in his fifties.

"Excuse me, sir. I guess you've accidentally dropped it," she said with an eastern European accent and handed him his passport. She is the same mysterious cat burglar from Shanghai.

Surprised, the man took the passport from her hands. He was a british diplomat by the type of his passport.

"How remiss I am. Thank you, Miss...? he asked with obvious interest on the beautiful lady.

She blushed and fidgeted as his eyes bore in on her.

"Dubrovna. Irena Dubrovna," she answered softly.

"As in the character from the film _Cat People_?"

"Yeah," she took the hint and sat on the empty seat next to him. "My father was a lover of old horror movies and he was serbian Dubrovna, so..."

"He named you Irena," the man stated.

"Exactly," she agreed, smiling tantalizingly.

They engaged in a conversation while the long flight kept going.

* * *

_**Heathrow Airport, London, UK**_

Hours later, the plane had landed and the passengers were filing out past the disembarkation gates.

Irena moved past the diplomat, carrying just an expensive purse. He winked at her. She winked back and smiled to herself.

After passing through the immigration booth, she proceed downstairs to the baggage claim.

Scotland yard agents were popping up everywhere but Irena did not find any problems to pass through the immigration and security agents.

* * *

_**Evening at a Hotel near Heathrow Airport, London, UK**_

Irena looked at the diplomat sleeping quietly next to her, breathing slow and deep. Clearly he was in heavy sleep. She slid out of bed, the soft linen bed sheets wrapped lazily around her body as she stealthily rose to her feet and walked over to discarded clothes on the floor.

Then she picked up his jacket and pulled out from the pocket a tiny envelope in which the stolen microchip had been kept since their _rendezvous_ during the flight.

Dropping the envelope into her purse, Irena checked the sleeping man again. His breathing intake was soothed, small but noticeable. She got dressed very quickly and left the hotel as fast as possible.

* * *

_**At a traditional Hotel, Mayfair, London, UK**_

Moments later, Irena Dubrovna – now as Selina Kyle – got inside a small, plush and discrete residential hotel in the heart of Mayfair. She approached the front desk with her two carry-on bags. The concierge and the hotel manager were behind the desk.

"Miss Kyle! Good to see you ma'am. Your room key – east penthouse as usual. Your clothes are up from storage, pressed of course, and there's plenty of your favourite greek yogurt brand inside the mini-fridge," the concierge stated.

"Thanks Niles," Selina thanked him and added, "Oh, and Niles..." she instructed him as she pulled out the envelope with the computer chip, "... ship this by overnight courier to that address."

"Very good ma'am."

A young bellman took Kyle's bags. Selina did not let go and an uncomfortable pause took place.

"Robbie, Miss Kyle carries her own bags," Niles said to the young man.

Selina smiled sheepishly and stepped past Robbie into the elevator.

"What's with the bags, gov'nuh?" Robbie asked the hotel manager, curious.

"They're all she ever brings. The lady's bills are paid by a bank in Switzerland and her mailing address is a corporation in Monaco. Bloody strange..."

"Miss Kyle, strange? No sir, she's just shy," Niles interjected with confidence.

* * *

_**East Penthouse of a traditional Hotel, Mayfair, London, UK**_

About an hour later, Selina was sitting at a desk, dressed only in her underwear, with a 6 oz yogurt pot and a spoon, staring at the screen of her modern ultrabook.

She started to type in a screen that looked like an old DOS screen with a basic top file bar and a black canvas.

LEOPARD CONTACTING ZEBRA: IS ZEBRA HOME?

And then this came back:

AFFIRMATIVE, LEOPARD.

Selina typed again:

PIGEON IS FLYING; WILL ARRIVE A.M.

An answer came back:

EXCELLENT. LEOPARD GIVES AND RECEIVES.

Selina typed a new command. A new screen appeared:

******* NATIONAL BANK OF GENEVA *******

PRIVATE UNMARKED ACCOUNTS

PLEASE ENTER SECURITY PASSWORD

Selina typed in her password:

66B7HU362X

This appeared:

******* NATIONAL BANK OF GENEVA *******

ACCOUNT OF: KYLE, SELINA

The balance until now was showing more than forty-seven million U.S. dollars.

She picked up the yogurt pot and got a spoonful, staring at the screen and waited for something...

Suddenly, the first digit, "4," vanished. A "5" appeared in it's place. Now she had fifty-seven million bucks in her account.

Selina permitted herself a slight smile, having just made 10 million dollars, and ate another spoonful of yogurt.


	6. 5 Putting The Cards On The Table

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Please, read and review. Your opinion (positive or negative) is very important to me. Also, one final note for those who are wondering about the lack of a more adventurous plot — this fic is mainly about Bruce/Miranda (Talia) relationship and, of course Bruce/Damian/Miranda relationship. Batman isn't going to make an appearance so soon but I hope you guys enjoy the fic developments._

* * *

**V - Putting The Cards On The Table**

_**Miranda Tate's private jet in flight above the Atlantic Ocean**_

Miranda, Bruce, Damian and Titus were flying back to Gotham in her private jet, which was a luxurious and huge aircraft equipped with the most advanced technology and functionalities that money could pay. Its lavish interior was divided into up to five sections including a private resting area with a king sized bed, washroom with running water, and a walk-in cargo area at the rear. The crew was consisted of two pilots and one flight attendant.

Damian took the news easier than his parents had envisioned and his only concern had rested upon Titus. The dog had received a sleep inductor prescribed by a vet, which allowed him to sleep over the exhausting transatlantic flight. The kid had followed his pet and had been sleeping in the bedroom area since they left the 10th meridian west.

Alfred had refused their invitation to join them, claiming he would like to spend some few days under the Tuscan sun.

Only Bruce and Miranda were in the main passenger cabin, separated by a safe distance from their seats, each one silently immersed in their own thoughts.

Miranda kept her eyes fixed on the book in her lap most of the time. She was aware of nothing except the hot ball of stress that burned at the base of her ribs. Normally reading soothed her but her eyes were recognising letters that her brain would not compute. Even as part of her was wishing she had packed a different book, another part of her knew it would not have made a difference.

The truth was she was concerned about what was waiting for her – for them – in Gotham. The worst case scenarios had filled her thoughts on the last hours. She had been worrying about how much of this would affect her son. And now she was feeling sorry for herself again, which was everything she had vowed to leave behind. It was absurd to feel like that!

"You have not once turned the page of that book."

Bruce's voice startled her from her musings, and she sat bolt upright. Absorbing the startling truth that she had not turned the page once during the flight, Miranda stared at the him blankly. Kind brown eyes looked back at her.

Ignoring her obvious discomfort, he seated in front of her and asked breezily, "Is everything okay?"

His warm and gentle tone made her feel like she was looking back into the past. For a split moment she stood still, unable to breathe, swamped by a longing to turn the clock back. But turn it back to when? How could there have ever been a different outcome? Miranda wondered if this was what it would've been like for them if Bruce had accepted her offer to run away. They would have taken her jet, gone anywhere in the world, far away from Gotham, from the pain it held for them both. They would have left their old lives for new, started fresh together. They would have…

_No!_

Their love had been doomed from the beginning. Together they had managed to make Romeo and Juliet look like a match made in heaven. Besides, if none of that had happened, they would never have met their son.

"I'm fine. It's just..." she paused, haunted by an overbearing urge to find the right words. Words that would not make her to appear weak or vulnerable. She hoped he was able to understand without further explanation.

Bruce knew she was trying to find the right words since she looked away from him. As usual she was keeping her concerns just to herself. He had to sit there watching while she kept staring at the book in her lap, as her mind were spinning, calculating her words. He decided to make that easy for her.

_All right, enough_, he thought. "I can tell there's something bothering you. Are you afraid of coming back to Gotham?"

Alarmed by his partial right guess she blinked rapidly. It was a part truth but the whole truth was so much more complicated than that.

_He had no idea,_ she mused. "So you're a mind-reader now?"

"Are you telling I'm wrong?"

"I'm not afraid of what will happen to me. I'm afraid of failing, and that's not an option because my son can't afford for me to fail. Not again," she confessed.

Carefully, he took her hand, soft and cold, cradling it in his own strong and calloused one. "And I won't let that to happen to you."

Despite the pain, and constant self torture about how their relationship end up like hell, she felt warmer and more self-confident than she had felt in years. Bruce's speech were a peace offering and she took it.

"Yeah, thanks," she breathed.

For what felt like long, slow moments, Bruce stared at Miranda as if nothing had ever happened between them, and that they were happy together. It was a thoughtful daydream, of course, and one that Bruce had had before in his darkest hours, but never allowed himself more than just the given moment to bask in what might have been.

It had felt incredibly glorious the intimate moments they had shared that day in Switzerland, but that had quickly turned to frustration as Miranda seemed determined to keep him at arm's length.

Right now, his heart was filling with hope and joy with the fact that they were not snippy or mean or spiteful towards each other, and she was not flinching at his touch. Maybe, someday they could give their relationship another chance. Until then, he would do his best to break down the wall she seemed intent on erecting between them.

"Everything's gonna be okay. You're the toughest, strongest woman I know. I can't believe how you've coped with so much on your own."

His comment send a chill through her spine as old memories raced through her mind and she freed her hand from his grip. She waited for the familiar anger and pain to surge up inside her, and then realised she was not angry. Well, that was a start. Anger was such a destructive emotion. If she could not lose the anger she would never heal inside, and those wounds were far more serious than any physical damage.

Bruce's lips tightened.

_One step up, two steps back,_ he thought with disappointment.

For him, her reaction spoke volumes. It told him everything he needed to know but some demon inside him persisted. He had gone this far and he would see it to the bitter end even if it let him feeling sorry in the process.

"You showed so much hatred for me that day at the City Hall...," he said, his eyes a deep, intense shade of black as he looked at her with fierce intensity. "I know we already have forgiven each other, but every time I am around you...," he paused one more time and then concluded, "you're sending mixed signals. I need to know if you left your pain and your anger behind."

She went pale and flinched. _Apparently, even anger and pain did not kill love_, she thought.

"I was honest with you from the moment you stepped inside my house. My only regret is if we had reached that point sooner a lot of suffering could have been avoided."

_She's right,_ he thought. Maybe if they had had a conversation of that depth when she had started to work at the company, a lot of bad things could have be prevented. And he knew, once he had chosen not to face her, he was the only one to blame.

"If it is any consolation, I feel like an utter bastard for what I did to you."

"You mean for what you didn't do."

"That too."

"Good. You should feel bad." Slowly, she put the book over the retractable tray table. "You were thoughtless and insensitive."

He winced as he recognised himself in that description. _Had I known you were pregnant with my child, I would have dropped everything and come to meet you,_ he mused but did not dare to say aloud.

"I made many mistakes," he confessed in a raw tone, his eyes holding hers. "I wish I could rewind the clock and do things differently. You have no idea how much I wish that."

_So did I,_ she thought and then she gazed at his eyes. _They're beautiful_. Or perhaps it was his eyelashes that were beautiful. Dense and inky-black, they framed a gaze that read her all too easily.

It was the first time he had clearly admitted that her response might have been justified.

There was a long silence before she could speak again.

"I was terrified," she whispered, "with the prospect of giving my child up for adoption or allowing him to live under the curse of the League of Shadows. I wouldn't have been able to fight against my father's wishes all by my myself."

He gave a groan of remorse.

"I should have been there to support you," he said quietly.

"Fate played with us to a freaky way, because despite my reservations regarding the League, you'd ended up being trained by his leader – my own father. The man who had considered you his best student, and still you were capable of taking his life," she said calmly, with no hint of anger in her voice.

Her accusation snapped inside of him the need of defend himself.

"But I didn't kill him. I just, didn't save him either," he paused as she rolled her eyes in disbelief. "You need to believe in me. I already had saved his life before. I'd considered him as friend, even a father figure," he admitted. "But nothing would have stopped him. I chose to be standing between him and the citizens of Gotham. Millions of people could have died."

"I've never approved my father's methods but that didn't mean I hated him to the point that I had wished his death. Damn it! He was my father! The only family that I had left. I've loved him but I had no time to tell him," her voice was filled with sorrow and grief. "I was so blinded by my own sense of righteous injustice that was easy to convince myself that you were a monster."

His throat tightened. He knew the rage that drove her. That impossible anger strangling the grief, until the memory of the loved one just becomes poison in the veins. _It's no wonder she had hated me_, he mused.

Suddenly, she chose to change to a more complicated topic, "I'm not surprised you walked out on me more than sixteen years ago. I was so naive and you were so... helpless."

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I left because I decided I was better on my own. Safer."

She blinked in confusion and asked him, "Safer?"

"I was protecting myself."

That admission drew a frown from her. "From me?"

"'From getting hurt. It's instinctive."

"But I would never..." but she cut herself off. She was indeed capable of hurting him. But this was after what he had done to her.

Bruce never had found himself in this position before. It was difficult to find the words, but still...

"Love is a choice. Choosing to love someone means you might to get hurt at some point because you're more vulnerable. Once you love someone they hold the power to hurt you. You love someone, and you lose, chances are you'll wish for the end of the world. I was so afraid of being let down it coloured everything I did."

Astonished as how he had no trouble expressing his feelings, Miranda remained silent. Most men were emotionally inarticulate but his current emotional sophistication far exceeded hers.

It came to her in a single blinding flash of comprehension and she pressed her nails against the palms of her hands, the shock of it rocking her composure.

No matter how vehement he had denied, it was obvious now that he had loved her. It was also obvious that loving her had been scaring him to death.

Then a moment of realization took hold of her. He had chosen to fight crime not only to defend the defenseless, but more than that he had done what he had done to lessen the pain, that harrowing torture gnawing deep in his gut since that gruesome night on which his parents had been killed. He stopped being Batman because it was no longer painful.

Now, both of them were sort of beyond of their past pains. But even though they had forgiven each other, even though they had been able to understand each other's point of view, things were seeming still very awkward between them. The path to reconciliation seemed to be long and tortuous.

_If only I knew how to fix the mess of our love lives_, she mused. But she did not want to rush things. Bruce had made it clear that his love for her was a past thing. He never mentioned or suggested that he still loved her, and she still had to think about how all of this would affect Damian's life. His happiness was her number one priority now.

It felt so good to be this close to him again that she could not concentrate on anything else. It would have been easy to just close her eyes and pretend anything bad had happened between them.

But Bruce actually had other intentions and took advantage of opening the communication channel between them, deciding to go further and ask her about something that was bothering him for quite some time.

"There's something a need to know. The League didn't die with Rã's. But wouldn't it die with Bane either?"

Bruce's question hit Miranda right in her gut and she asked, a little bit confused, "Excuse me?"

"I mean... Is the League of Shadows still a threat?"

_Wow! One moment we talk about love, the next about a terrorist threat. How does that happen? _she mused.

She saw Bruce's expressive eyes shimmering suspiciously and snorted.

"Honestly, I don't know," rosing from her seat she added, "and I think we've had enough conversation for one day."

Bruce watched Miranda stand up to reveal her slender figure. His heart ached in a very peculiar and disturbing way. She was obviously angry with his change of subject or with how far distrustful he had gone. But he needed to know on what ground he was walking with her. He was under no illusions anymore.

His face darkened with frustration. He was not given to voicing his emotions, nor to analysing them. Over the years he had learnt to observe other people's behaviour but never to react to it. But suddenly he found himself breaking one of his own rules.

His initial impulse was to run after her and force her to speak the truth, but Bruce hesitated. Their conversation had left him feeling… unsettled. He liked to think of Miranda as a woman whom he should always smell a rat.

He would give her some time to calm herself down and then would bring it up again in the future.


	7. 6 Back In The Headlines

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._ _Don't forget to read and review._

* * *

**VI - Back In The Headlines**

_**Gordon's Office, Major Crimes Unit, Gotham City**_

"_First, the main points of the news..."_

While he was doing some paperwork, Gordon kept an eye on the TV.

"_Daily reports of a new crime wave..."_

"_... gang called as The Face False Society..."_

_The usual,_ he mused.

"_The Commissionaire didn't say..."_

For a quick moment Jim payed attention on his "_nothing to declare_" line and snorted at this. The reporter was making him to look like an idiot.

Suddenly, some striking news almost made him to fall out of his chair. He held his breath as the announcer was speaking.

"_And in other news, Bruce Wayne is alive and kicking. The prince of Gotham is coming back to town, nine months after he was missing and presumed dead, following Gotham's siege. And he's not alone. Lola now has more details..._"

Gordon let out a sigh as images of Wayne nine months ago flashed on the screen.

_Ohmigod. He's alive. But how?_

"_Wayne had always been a regular tabloid presence and now his past life as a playboy is showing its results, once it had been revealed the billionaire bore a son with one of his past girlfriends – Miranda Tate, former CEO and a board member of Wayne Enterprises..."_

As the broadcaster was speaking, a picture of Tate showed up at the screen.

"._..their 16-year-old son is joining his mom and dad in their impending return._"

"_That's right, Lola_," another broadcaster said. "_Do you think Wayne is gonna settle down? Maybe we're gonna see somebody else taking his place as Gotham's most eligible bachelor – his son."_ There was a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Gossipers!" Jim mumbled.

"_Shortly before Wayne's disappearance he went bankrupt. However, his lawyers succeeded to prove fraud recently and his immense fortune was restored, although half of it was donated to the people of Gotham."_

"_Well, Lola, some lucky people can dispose of their money and yet remain rich."_

"_Now, politics. Oswald Cobblepot, in his acceptance speech as candidate of mayor of Gotham, has heavily criticized the former administration."_

"_Anyone who knows my achievements will know that half of this belongs to my parents. Without their perseverance lessons, I wouldn't have been able to go half the path I did. It's nice to congratulate ourselves on occasions like this. But I can't stand here tonight..._"Cobblepot declared.

* * *

_**Miranda Tate's private jet in flight over the US East Coast**_

"_...without thinking of those innocent people who had died last winter. As they pondered their options in the White House, the mad men who decided to destroy Gotham were playing with the honor, the pride and mainly the hope of our beloved citizens._

_Great power conflicts and collapsing dominoes explain why those who had been in power kept Harvey Dent's farce a secret. And they may be assumed not to have ignored self-interest in their own careers. _

_What they specifically were not concerned with were the Gothamites themselves. _

_Not the people, not the society, not the city. Except in the abstract, as instruments of policy._

_I'm very pleased to accept this bid. I'm very honored and I know that my ancestors would be very proud._"

The image of Cobblepot finishing his speech under a round of applause was streaming on Bruce's tablet screen.

_This man had a good rhetoric though he is not completely right,_ he thought, _s_hifting in his seat impatiently. In the last few hours, the slightly annoying pain in his back returned to plague him again. It had been happening from time to time but he manage to endure it without the help of painkillers. His knee already had showed signs that it was not in good state anymore. Maybe it was time to get a new high tech knee brace with Fox. Suddenly, before he could do a deeper analysis of Cobblepot's speech, Miranda emerged like a storm at his side.

"What have you done?" The fury that colored Miranda's tone successfully brought Bruce's attention back to her.

"Me?" he questioned, confused.

"Yeah, you! How could you decide to inform the press about our return without asking me before? I wanted to do it out of radar. Haven't you thought about Damian? How this kind of exposing would affect him? Not to mention how humiliating it's to be put at the same level your bimbo girls," she poured the words out, looking into his eyes.

"Look, I've never done such thing. I've contacted Lucius about our return and asked him to inform the company's PR department, so they could be able to generating a press release. But I can't control how the media will use this type of information," he said calmly.

She looked at him with exasperation. "Those tabloid reporters are like vultures. You're throwing Damian – all of us – to the wolves."

"An official statement will prevent a lot of speculation about the situation and I won't hide my son like some dirty secret. He's my heir and of the Wayne's dynasty. As such, he'll need to learn how to deal with the press in general. Soon, all of this is gonna die down," he stated.

"You didn't even bother to tell us about your plans. I need to get him ready to face the media. To explain him about it," she pointed, biting her lip.

"I've already had," Bruce confessed. "I've talked to him early."

Looking at him blankly, Miranda shook her head in disbelief. "Why did you never tell me this before?"

"I had intended speaking with you about it."

"Had you?" she asked, a slow anger even greater was beginning to simmer away inside her.

To her shock she saw a sheepish look cross his face before he spoke again. "Guess I owe you an apology."

Had his voice dropped an octave? It sound like it. She tried to ignore his penitent tone and focus. "I'm sure you do."

"I should never have acted in such a selfish manner. It was unbelievably arrogant and disrespectful to you. And, like I said, I had intended speaking with you about it."

His easy apology made something melt inside her. However, for her, once he had chosen to keep things close to his chest, it was a clear signal he did not trust her

"I'm doing the best I can for him – for us," he assured her without hesitation.

"Ahem," the flight attendant cleared her throat, making them aware of her presence. Both turned to her uneasily.

"Sir. Ma'am. We'll be landing at Gotham International Airport in less than thirty minutes," the saccharine-sweet voice of the petite blonde announced smoothly. "Please ensure that all your hand luggage is put away in the overhead lockers and that you are securely settled on your seats. Then keep your seat belts fastened until the aircraft has to come to a standstill."

"Oh... Hmm... I'll go get my son," Miranda informed the smiling blonde and left.

* * *

_**Gotham International Airport, Little Stockton, Gotham City**_

Twenty minutes later, the sign informing passengers to Fasten Seat Belts flashed on above Damian's head and he automatically reached to check that his belt was in place.

The aircraft dipped to begin its approach to the airport and Damian's stomach lurched in protest. But it wasn't the amount of snacks he had consumed during the flight that was giving him such a sickly feeling. It was the knowledge that he was facing a new type of life that was tying his stomach in knots.

He did not have the luxury of being a regular kid anymore. He was not the same as the average person on the street. He had obligations, responsibilities. A legacy and a name to preserve. And from now on he would be under the media's scrutiny all the time.

_I'm adaptable, _he kept repeating those words in his mind like a mantra.

The landing was swift and uneventful. The airport was busy and the plane taxied efficiently to an unloading bay designated to private jets.

The plane had come to a complete standstill, the door was open, and they began gathering their belongings. There was little chit-chat between his parents and the crew. Miranda thanked them for the calm flight and went toward the stairway.

"Fox send me a message. He's waiting for us with a car," Bruce informed them after checking his cell phone.

As if he could sense Damian's weakening, Bruce moved closer and asked him, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just jet-lagged," he said quietly, rubbing his eyes. They were sensitive and puffed due to oversleep, so he put a pair of sunglasses and headed toward the door.

A short walk across the tarmac and they were in the terminal buildings, offering their passport for inspection and waiting to collect their luggage.

By now, news of Wayne's return had spread across the press, so a crowd of photographers and news cameras were waiting for them outside. The doors of the VIP area opened and flashes came from everywhere.

Security guards escorted them on their way to a black limo, which was arranged by Fox.

Bruce looked at the paparazzi and recognized some familiar faces. People that followed him over the past years, that did their jobs and somehow ended in his routine. Even so, he had never grown comfortable being in the spotlight and he still hated the attention that crashed into his private life.

Miranda naturally hid her face with her free hand. Trembling all over, from fatigue and something more volatile, she let Bruce take her arm and lead her way.

With distinct annoyance in his voice he said near to her ear, "If it's not too much trouble, do you think you can manage a fake smile at least? There are about dozens of people watching our every move. I know this is trying for you, but it's nearly over."

His suggestion caught her off guard and she tried to let go of his grip but Bruce just held her even tighter. Miranda offered a small smile to the cameras and was grateful that security guards kept the paparazzi at bay. They were hounding them with too many questions – specifically about the current nature of their relationship.

Moving up the path as fast as he possibly could, Damian ignored everything and everyone until he reached the parking lot.

Fox was waiting for them outside the limo and greeted them with a huge smile on his face.

"Welcome back, Mr. Blake. Or should I say Mr. Wayne now?" the older man teased.

"Hi, Mr. Fox. It's just Damian. Call me by my first name or just DJ. Mr. Wayne is my old man," the teenager clarified, just dying to leave that place.

"Mr. Wayne, it's damn good to see you," Fox greeted Bruce warmly with a clap on the back and a short hug. "The graves done you no favors I see."

"It's good to see you too, Lucius," Bruce replied, grinning.

"Miss Tate it's always a pleasure," Fox gave a small nod as he look at her.

"Hello, Mr. Fox! It's nice to see you again under better circumstances."

"I'm sorry for the hysterical press coverage. The company's PR department tried to do some damage control but the news was already spreading like wildfire," Fox apologized and added, tilting his head towards Bruce, "not to mention your strange habit of resurrection."

"That's fine, Lucius. We all are gonna survive," Bruce tried to soften the situation. "Don't we folks?" he asked, glancing at Miranda and Damian.

"Sure," the boy answered. "Can we go home now?"

"The paparazzi will have field days of speculation," Miranda mumbled as she got inside the car.

Once they were all inside the black limo, Fox asked, "Wayne Manor?"

"Yes!"

"No!"

Both Bruce and Miranda answered at the same time. Fox chuckled and Damian rolled his eyes under his sunglasses, too tired to say anything.

"Please, drop me and Damian at Titan Palace Hotel. My loft didn't have any supplies or is ready to receive us. I need to make some arrangements first. And Damian is clearly very tired after our journey."

"All right, I'll let the driver know," Fox said.

"Come to think of it," Bruce interjected, "neither Wayne Manor is ready to receive us. Alfred is gonna be here only in a few days. I'm going to stay at Titan Palace too."

Miranda sighed and Fox said with an uncertain smile, "So, Titan Palace is what is gonna be."

He informed the driver and the limo left.


	8. 7 Encounter With The Past

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Don't forget to read and review. You can see Damian's gift to Stephanie Brown here: __**www(**__dot__**)reconnectionstore(**__dot__**)com(**__slash__**)jewelry(**__dot__**)aspx**_

* * *

**VII - Encounter With The Past**

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

The sensational Lamborghini Aventador drove slowly through the arched stone entrance and Bruce observed the vast, rolling parkland ahead, which spread out as far as the eye could see.

Those beautiful gardens brought old memories to his mind and a hint of nostalgia to his heart. With an effort, he returned his attention to the long drive which led up to the house and gripped the steering wheel as he stared at the towering splendour of his ancestral rebuilt home.

It had been a week since they were back in town. A week he had been pretty much stuck in a hotel room avoiding the press. Miranda was right. Some journalists were acting like vultures and were nitpicking every corner of their lives. They just had stopped when a threat of a potential lawsuit was looming over their heads.

Bruce nodded briefly at the gardener who was touching a deferential finger to his brow as the black Lamborghini drove slowly past. He felt some of the tension escape from his body as he drove towards the glowing golden brickwork of Wayne Manor. There had been a time when that ancient building had meant nothing to him. A time when – in his mind – that place had been no more than a mausoleum and if had had his way, he would have pull everything down brick by brick.

Well, be careful what you wish for, because years later, Rã's al Ghul had done him a twisted kind of favor by burning his house and destroying almost everything in the process.

Though Wayne estate might bring back bitter memories of his lonely juvenile years, it was still home. Still the place where he felt most free. Where he could walk through the vast grounds of the estate and lose himself in the beauty of nature.

He slowed the Lamborghini down, let it crawl along at a snail's pace and then cut the engine in front of the main entrance. He got out of the car and walked towards the marble steps. Giant pillars lined the wide steps leading up to the main door, where Alfred J. Pennyworth was standing waiting for them.

"How lovely to see you, Master Bruce!" said the older man, in a humorous voice.

"It's good to see you too, old friend. All the work I ordered has been completed, I hope?" Bruce turned and walked into the big house.

"Yes, sir." Alfred nodded vigorously in confirmation. "The clean staff finished yesterday, and fresh provisions came this morning. Your old single room have been redecorated according your instructions. The kennel has been inspected by a veterinary. Everything is ready for you and the eventual new residents."

"Great. Thank you. Did you have a good journey?"

"Very good thanks, sir," Alfred answered. "But it was time to come back. Florence is reaching its tourism high season and soon would be filled with large crowds which means long lines or even sold-out attractions."

"And then it would lose its charm," Bruce added.

"Yes, indeed. I'm assuming you're having a hard time since you've came back."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Media is doing a storm in a teacup. It's been harder than I expected."

"We should have realised this might happen once the news would break," Alfred pointed out. "How the young Wayne is coping with that?"

"Damian is a tough kid. He's doing as great as possible for a teen in his position. But Miranda..." he stopped and let out a long sigh.

"It's quite understable, sir. Nobody likes to have its privacy invaded and scrutinized. Moreover, for someone who are so self-contained like her."

"Well, she blames me for that. I thought we've reached some kind of understanding, but lately she can barely tolerate being in the same room as me."

Alfred gave a short laugh. "It's been my experience, sir, women are complicated creatures but not an unsolvable mystery. Like a maze, you can go around and get confused, then go back, and then find your way again."

"That's incredibly insightful," Bruce agreed. "Hold on a second. You've said _your experience_?"

"Well, I had braved complex women in my time, sir." Alfred said grinning and quickly changed the subject, "Master Damian is going to stay at the manor?"

"It has not yet decided. Miranda wants to get a larger home to accommodate both of them comfortably and I want him to stay where he belongs – which is here. Anyway, the final word is gonna be Damian's."

"Perhaps its not my place to speak," Alfred paused for a briefest moment and then continued, "While you two seem to haven't reached a consensus on this issue, may I remind you there's enough room for him – and for her too – in this house. I'm sure it was never your intent to separate a mother from her child."

Bruce rolled his eyes at the mention of the possibility of her living in the mansion too.

"Be my guest to try to persuade her," he said as he started up the stairs.

Alfred kept following him till they reached the master bedroom's door. Bruce opened a door and Alfred followed him inside. "To be honest this is really the least of my worries right now. Miranda and I want what's best for our son and we're gonna support him in whatever decision he makes. If he's happy, I'm gonna be happy too. But I have to go to court to make a proof of life declaration and have my earlier court approved death overturned. Then I need to fix Damian's legal condition and make him my legal son. And finally, there are some company's problems I need to solve."

"I see you have your hands full, sir." Alfred commented with a smile on his face.

Bruce just smirked in return as he carefully inspected some papers and mailings which were lying over a African zebrawood desk.

"You told me one time you had no intention of coming back to Gotham. So, what did make you change your mind, sir?"

Actually, Bruce did not know for sure why on hell he had made his decision out of sudden, without planning it in advance. He was ready to start a new life without the restraints of the old one, and yet, here he was.

However, he had had no choice. He could not leave Miranda alone, facing the wolves. She was the mother of his only son. She needed him. She needed someone to lean on, to support her. Besides, he was also partly to blame for what had happened with the city months ago.

Wayne figured it was a small sacrifice if it meant getting to help her and also indirectly the city. For a long time he had believed there had been nothing out there for him. But things had changed and he was feeling more confident to help Gotham as Bruce Wayne.

"I guess I just decided that I need to do something," he said and added quickly when he saw Alfred's concerned face, "just as Bruce Wayne."

"I'm gladly you've finally learned that your real ID is important and useful too," Alfred said in a soft tone, cracking a bright smile and then turned, leaving Bruce behind with his thoughts.

* * *

_**Monarch Theater, Park Row District, Gotham City**_

Monarch Theater was no more than a survivor among other derelict buildings in the neighborhood when Damian's cab pulled up at the street corner.

He would rather take public transportation, but only small domestic pets were permitted on Gotham City Transit buses and subways and only when they were carried in kennels or similar containers that can be accommodated by the owner on its lap without annoyance to other passengers. And Titus was far from being small. Besides, paparazzi were hunting him down like vicious savages, not allowing his right to come and go like a normal teenager. He hoped that soon all of this '_Wayne heir discovered' _crap would die down.

"Where to now, kiddo?" the driver called over his shoulders. "I can tell you here is an unsafe place."

Damian still was not sure if coming here was a good idea and he had no thought on what he would see. "I have my own bodyguard," he stated, patting Titus's head. He reached his wallet for a couple of notes. "You can just drop me here. I'll walk the rest of the way."

The cabbie looked skeptical, still, he shrugged and accepted the money Damian handed him before the kid got out from the car and whistled, calling the dog to follow him.

"You sure, buddy?" the cabbie asked, and Damian smiled.

"One hundred percent," he answered and adjusted his red cap and sunglasses that hid some of his features.

He had walked the desert route between the corner – where the cabbie parked his car – and the theater's sidewalk many times before. It was no strange or odd at all. He was home again.

With a cleansing breath, he turned toward the rows of shabby buildings. A rush of emotions hit him when he recalled being in this exact spot years ago, after being released from Juvenile Hall.

After months travelling through Europe, months he had put aside, selfishly, just for himself, his new family and his own pleasure, coming home was hard. Coming home was lonely. There was nobody – had been nobody for months now – living at Monarch Theater anymore. The other orphan children were living in '_The Thomas and Martha Wayne Home for children'._

He pulled a key out from his pocket, unlocked a heavy padlock and headed towards inside with Titus alongside. Once there, the place smelled musty and unused, it was the smell of loneliness.

A lump, unbidden, rose to his throat. Even in the velvety darkness he could picture Colin playing with the other kids, betting on wheelchair races. They were hard but happy times.

Damian swallowed past that treacherous lump and reminded himself he was starting over. New plans, new life.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps and turned around quickly to see who it was. The dog barked and then stopped at his signal.

"Be quiet," he admonished the dog and added, "Hey, dude."

"DJ?" the young man asked him cautiously. "Is that you?"

"I didn't know I was easily forgotten," he answered and greeted him with some sort of handshake/fist pump/high-five.

"Hey, I missed you, buddy," Mitch Hawker – an old friend – admitted.

"I've missed you guys too. How's everything going?"

"Gang is fine. I've always seen then when I show up at the Home for Children. On my free time I do volunteer work there. I aged, so I no longer live there. I got a job at a small cafeteria downtown," Mitch said proudly.

"That's cool!"

"Holy moly! Now you're hanging on with a dog."

"This is Titus," Damian motioned his head to the dog.

Mitch kneeled before Titus and try to pat his head, but – to Damian's surprise – the dog winced and barked aloud. "Hey, boy, c'mon here."

"Easy, Titus. Good boy," Damian spoke calmly but firmly, intending to calm the dog.

Mitch stood up and asked, "And you man? I saw the news. What's it like to be a Wayne?"

Damian let out a short, abrupt laugh. "I'm still the same, in case you're wondering. I didn't change a bit."

"I've always felt like you didn't fit among us. You're different. You've never belonged here. You belong to your parents' preppy world." Mitch words were careful, controlled and completely without emotion and they struck at Damian's heart because deep down he knew they were somehow true.

"Nothing's changed," he said flatly.

"Right. So, tomorrow night, you and me, we're doing the city. You've got a lot to catch up on."

"That sounds like a great idea, but..." Damian hesitated.

"You've said nothing has changed."

"Yeah, well, there's plenty of time for all that. I just can't swing through the city right now. There are photographers and journalists everywhere. It's best to wait for the dust to settle."

"If you say so. You can find me in the flat above the old barber shop at the end of the street."

"Nice. I'll let you know when I'm ready."

"Okay. It's good to see you again, man."

"It's good to see you too, Mitch. Bye."

"See you," Mitch said, turned around and left the theater.

* * *

_**Titan Palace Hotel, Uptown, Gotham City**_

Miranda took a seat at an inconspicuous place in the hotel's vast lounge, where she could keep herself away from prying eyes and enjoy a cup of tea.

However, in spite of this resolution, she seemed to be finding concentration difficult, particularly as she was not sleeping too well at nights. Clearly the forthcoming confrontation with the auditing investigation must be preying on her mind rather more than she had expected, she told herself wryly. When she got back to Gotham a week ago, the overwhelming atmosphere was not on her side and she could not wait to solve all her pending issues as fast as possible.

The great saloon was an impressive place, she thought, glancing round her, and busy too. Afternoon snacks were clearly doing a roaring trade, and the soft sounds of a pianist playing gentle jazz were only just audible above the hum of conversation. But a crowd she could blend into was exactly what she wanted.

Although it was never her intention to become completely invisible, she thought with faint irritation, as she made another of several vain attempts to catch the eye of a scurrying waiter.

And as she settled back into her chair with a sigh and got ready to check the list of properties she had visited in the previous days, she suddenly startled at the sound of her name.

"Oh my God, Miranda Tate!"

Miranda looked up, only to find an elegant redhead – Veronica Vreeland – standing in front of the table and staring at her.

_Oh, boy!_

She knew she had no choice. She took a deep breath, braced herself and called out, "Ronnie?" She sounded surprised and her hand shook as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Then instantly regretted the nervous gesture because it exposed more of her hesitancy to Vreeland. She was aware too of an odd stillness at the other socialite approach, with people leaning towards each other at neighbouring tables, and murmuring.

"How are you doing?" Miranda asked her.

"So far so good," the woman with long silky red strands answered. "And you're looking as lovely as ever."

"Thank you," Miranda spoke a little awkwardly.

"So I'm aware of the news. Gosh, you and Wayne have a son! Why you guys didn't tell me? I've thought we're friends..."

Well, they were more like college mates than best friends ever. However it was not Tate's place to clarify the situation right now.

"Things were complicated in that time... and still are," Miranda told her simply, feeling no need to give further explanation.

"Oh, dear. I apologize," Veronica said as she took a seat at the table, without being asked to do it. Big blue eyes glinted at her. "I didn't intend to be nosy. But I'm sure everything is gonna be fine. What a great time you're going to have now you're all together again."

"I hope so. I've been trying to order tea, but..."

She broke off as Veronica lifted a languid manicured hand, and two waiters came running, as if all they had been waiting for her signal.

"My lady friend would like tea," she paused and turned to Miranda, "What type?"

"Ceylon Black, please."

"So, Ceylan tea for Miss Tate and coffee for me, please."

Miranda, bewildered and pardonably annoyed, watched the deference with which her instructions were received.

"How did you manage that?" she asked.

"It wasn't difficult." She leaned back in her chair graciously. "Well, I'm married to the owner," she added nonchalantly and lifted her left hand showing the four-carat trillion-cut diamond solitaire, set in a split band of platinum – big enough to make a statement, not big enough to be vulgar.

"Wow, I didn't know. Well, that's wonderful news! Congratulations," Miranda said. She did not follow the gossip columns pages unless it was strictly necessary to know better her business partners. Ronnie was a marriage addict and that was probably her 4th or maybe her 5th wedding. Miranda had lost the track.

"Thank you. It was a small wedding. We've met each other last summer on a safari in Tanzania. I couldn't resist Dimitri's russian charm. I was away from Gotham when the city held hostage by that abhorrent terrorists, but as soon as I could come back I did," Veronica declared.

Miranda had a vague recollection of having read somewhere that the russian multimillionaire Dimitri Antonovich was making massive investments in Gotham.

"Are we talking about Dimitri Antonovich?" she asked.

"Yep. Pretty as a picture, incredibly sexy, rolled in money and who treats me like a queen. Don't you think I've struck gold?" Veronica said with mischievous smile.

Miranda chuckled and agreed, "Oh, yeah. Definitely."

"So, I'm breathless with curiosity. When Wayne is gonna make an honest woman of you?"

Miranda looked up, certain she couldn't have heard her correctly. "I...We're just... We're not is this type of relationship," she mumbled.

At which point, the waiter returned. Plates of tiny finger sandwiches, scones, and cakes oozing cream were placed on the table, along with tea for Miranda, and a pot of coffee served black for her companion.

When they were finally alone again, Veronica said, "I see. The man is stringing you along."

"It's nothing like that." She didn't sound particularly convincing, she thought, vexed, but then the conversation was not going exactly as she would rather either.

"I'm going to throw a party in honor of Bruce's return. We got a lot to celebrate. Gotham's rebirth, your son, you guys are getting along again, my wedding. What do you think?"

"I-I don't know." Veronica's blabbering left Miranda speechless. "I think you should talk to him first. However..." Miranda paused for a moment and then, an idea struck in her mind. She was sick and tired of how he conducted the situation between them. Also she knew how much he disliked this type of unpurposed fancy event. She must getting her own back now. "Are you talking about a welcome home bash?" she pretended to be interested.

Veronica's eyes glimmered as she got Miranda's attention. "Yeah! He came from the dead. This calls for a party. I can take care of everything."

"Really? So, you tell me where and when," Miranda said with amusement and bite a piece of a blueberry muffin.

* * *

_**Gotham County High School, Gainsly District, Gotham City**_

Stephanie Brown walked down the front steps of the school, completely immersed in her thoughts that she did not notice Damian's presence until he walked up to her and called her name.

"Hey Steph," he greeted. Stephanie smiled at him and rushed to give him a tight hug. The blonde-haired girl did not expect to find him waiting for her outside the school building. It was a big surprise.

Her heart was pounding so hard and fast inside her chest, she thought it might beat its way out. "Dami!"

Damian looked away at the sound of his nickname. It was hard to hide the blush that burned under his cheeks every time he heard Steph's voice say it so affectionately. "No one's called me that in a while, Spoiler."

"Worst nickname ever."

"What? I've always thought it fit pretty well. But if you insist on calling me that wretched variation of my name, I'll have to call you Spoiler."

"Fair enough," she agreed. "Whatcha doin' here among the little people?"

Damian snorted. "Oh, not you too, please." he paused and asked, "Did you receive my postcards?"

Stephanie nodded, smiling calmly. "Yes they were great. Switzerland, Italy. You're putting on airs and graces," she mocked a bit.

"I have something for you," he told her as he pulled a small package out from his pocket. "I bought it in Florence."

"You've came all the way here just to give me a souvenir? Not that I'm complaining, of course," she said as she unpacked the small gift, revealing a leather cord necklace embellished with a silver pendant.

"I came here to see you," he clarified. "It symbolizes reconnecting," he explained, pointing to the necklace.

"That's sweet! Thank you." She went close to him and softly kissed his cheek.

Someone came from behind – one of Steph's friend – and cleared her throat, "Ahem."

Giggling, she recognized Damian from the news and said bluntly, "Don't let him get you into too much trouble. See you tomorrow, Steph."

"Oh, see you, Jess," Stephanie said uneasily and turned to Damian with an apologetic face. "Sorry about her."

"That's okay."

Titus chose that moment to bark and they both turned to look at him. The dog jumped on Damian's leg, making Stephanie to step away in surprise.

"Oh, meet Titus. He's my naughty dog," he stated, trying to calm him down.

"He's... humn... big."

"And he's gonna get even bigger."

"Oh, I see..."

"Don't worry. He doesn't bite... most of the times," he added the last words with a small laugh. "Do you have any plans for summer break? It's gonna be in few days."

"Not yet. Maybe I'm gonna be a volunteer at the Home for Children. They need a special place for extracurricular activities and..."

"Really?" he interrupted her. "Maybe I should talk to my father and..."

"Your father? You're already calling him _father_? How could you? That man hasn't given a damn for you in years. And that stuck up woman left you in an orphanage."

"Hey! Take it easy! They're my parents. He didn't know about me until last year and she needed to do what she did."

Stephanie rolled her eyes in response.

"Look, sometimes things are not just black and white but there is also a large grey area. They really care for me, Steph, and I'm happier than I've ever been in a long time."

"Good for you," she said quietly with a hint of remorse in her voice.

"Do you mind if I join you in your walk back home?"

"Sure", she agreed and added, "but hold on your black little monster."

He laughed. "Okay."

Moments later, they were getting closer to her house. Their journey was peaceful, although Titus stopped occasionally to sniff a bush or other.

"And this city's gone to crap again," she declared. "There's a new gang at town – the False Face Society – they're aiming great corporations. Don't know why they didn't attack Wayne Enterprises yet. Not counting the very armed crooks that seemed to have risen from the ashes. You did know Batman. Is he gone forever?"

Her question caught him off guard. "Batman is dead, Steph. He'd sacrificed himself in order to save this city. He's not coming back, unless..." he stopped abruptly.

"Unless?" she asked, curious.

"Unless somebody else takes his mantle."

"Don't you think..." she paused. "You just got back. Take it slow."

"Yeah, you're right. Besides, I don't belong to this crime fight world anymore."

"That's right. You're a Wayne now. The son of the Prince of Gotham," she declared with a flourish.

"I've thought I was the prince now," he said with amusement.

She just shook her head and chuckled.

When they reached her house, he said goodbye to her.

"Thank you for your gift. I really liked it."

"You're welcome," he said simply and left with Titus alongside.

* * *

_**East Penthouse of a traditional Hotel, Mayfair, London, UK**_

Selina yawned as steeped into the hotel hallway. She had been kept out late last night and was really tired. Only nodding slightly to the hotel staff, she trudged to her room, eager to meet her bed.

Already in the east penthouse, she changed her clothes into something more comfortable and turned on her computer to check her e-mails.

A soft beep let her know someone was trying to contact her through the ultra secret network she used to communicate. Facing the familiar screen with a basic top file bar and a black canvas, she noticed there was a new message.

ARE YOU THERE KITTY CAT?

The message looked like suspicious. However, she replied anyway:

IT DEPENDS.

Another message came back:

I HAVE A JOB FOR YOU.

That was a secure connection with a sophisticated encryption scheme. It could be a trap... or a new work.

Selina hesitated for a moment and then typed:

INVOLVING WHAT?

Few seconds later, the answer came:

A LOT OF MONEY AND RYKIN DATA'S CLEAN SLATE.

_Clean Slate? This guy must be joking, _she mused.

CLEAN SLATE IS ONLY A MYTH.

Mr. or Mrs. X typed in return:

IF YOU WANT IT, I'LL SEND YOU MORE INSTRUCTIONS ATTACHED.

She stared at it for a moment and asked:

WHERE'S GONNA BE THIS JOB?

Then the answer returned:

GOTHAM CITY.

Selina eyed it skeptically and she sank on her bed. A rush of emotions hit her when she recalled her hometown. After nearly ten years many of her memories were just as vivid as if they had happened yesterday.

She had left when it had become impossible to perform her burglary activities there – when a masked vigilante called Batman had taken to protecting the streets of Gotham City. So she had decided there was a whole new world to be explored. And so it had began her career as an international master thief with a long criminal record.

In the years she spent honing her craft, Kyle employed classic elegance, refined taste, alluring charm and a sleight of hand that could earn the envy of a talented magician.

Like the best illusionists, she had a knack for making things disappear.

Over time she had been getting better and robbery had been no longer just a risk business but more like a hired job. Under several aliases she became an enigma, a wily and witty con artist, as well as a high society grifter, who used her sex appeal to hoax wealthy men. A highly skilled thief who had stolen valuable secrets from businessmen, politicians, scientists and who else was necessary and then sold them to anyone who make the highest bidder.

Selina's extraordinary ability had made her a coveted player in the treacherous world of corporate espionage, but it had also made her an international wanted person.

In fact, beneath all those glamorous layers, Selina was a hard, self-reliant, crafty woman. People should treat her as such or be very sorry they had ever met her. It was unfortunate that a young woman of Kyle's various talents could be so lacking. How this was possible?

Her journey had been through a tough world and she had come fast. Though her outward self was glowing with life, she was dead inside.

Now she was being offered a chance at redemption. Clean Slate was like a glimmer of hope, a passport for a fresh start. She had been saving enough money for retirement and envisioned a shining life in Southern France, like an old movie or a fairy tale.

One last job could give her the life she always had dreamed of. She sighed and pondered her options for a moment before she could muster the courage to give an answer to the mysterious sender.

Maybe it was time to make a coming back to Gotham.


	9. 8 Life After Death

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Sorry for the (long) delay. Life is extremely busy and I was not entirely pleased with my work in this and the next chapter (and I'm still not).__ Anyway, this whole chapter is devoted to Bruce Wayne. I hope you guys like it. I know some of you are looking forward to the party chapter, but I'm gonna ask you to be patient and hang on just a little bit. Again, English is not my native language, so my sincere apologies in advance for possible errors. Don't forget to review, please!_

_Oh, by the way, I have no idea how all the legal stuff that shows up in this chapter works in US (particularly in the state of New Jersey). I'm just assuming these things based on my extremely superficial knowledge of the law and mixing them with my own creativity._ :)_  
_

* * *

**VIII - Life After Death**

_**Flat & Flat lawyers office, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

Accompanied by Fox, Bruce arrived at the lawyers office building at the agreed time. Once they stepped into the elevator and the door shut, Fox asked, "We haven't yet had the opportunity to talk about it, but how are things going? I mean, for real."

"Better than I've imagined. Media did cause some trouble at first but they're stepping back right now. I'm spending my time just tying up a few loose ends, which leads me to ask you about a new leg brace device..."

"A new leg brace? You're expecting to run into your extracurricular activities again?" the older man asked with a sardonic hint in his voice.

"No. Nothing like that," Bruce assured him. "You know, I'm all screwed up. I think my knee can't take any longer, and I probably might have to use a cane again. You know, I'm not old enough to move around like a gramps."

Fox chuckled, "Do you already have a medical diagnosis?"

Bruce had spent the previous day performing a complete health check up. This was a necessary part of his legally coming back to life. The judge had required a kind of medical certificate to establish that he was in fact alive. Bruce found out he was in a better state than he had imagined. But some results were largely disappointing, including his back injury.

"The doctor said that my left knee had no cartilage left in it. He showed me X-rays of both knees to demonstrate it and said that there were a couple of treatment options that may or may not work."

"I see," Fox pondered for a moment and then said, "Well, to get a more accurate answer you should probably make an appointment to be evaluated by a sports medicine specialist, or an orthopedic surgeon who will have access to your medical records to see exactly what kind of injuries you have had. However," he added mischievously, "S.T.A.R. Labs has been doing some major advances in the field of Biotechnology. Its researchers are tackling worn-out cartilage with cell culture, artificial plugs and growth factors to coax the knee to heal. They use stem cells to make some kind of replacement," he explained.

"Good to know. Maybe I'll pay them a visit with a fomentation promise."

"I'm sure they will be ecstatic with that," Fox said with amusement. He sighed and then decided to get into another issue, "Months ago, when I asked you about the autopilot, you were somewhat elusive..."

Suddenly, the elevator's ding chimed and its doors opened.

"I did my homework, Lucius, as you've suggested me to do," Bruce replied, grinning, as both men stepped outside the elevator and went to the office.

They were ushered into a small conference room to find a middle-aged man seated at the head of the table, going through a folder.

He saw them and stood. "Mr. Wayne, I'm Walter Flat."

"Mr. Flat." Bruce shook his offered hand. "I assume you've already met Mr. Fox."

After exchanging pleasantries, the men took their seats around the big table.

The middle-aged attorney began, "First of all, Mr. Wayne, I want to welcome you back. It was a good surprise after all the chaos the city have been."

Bruce replied with a nod.

"Regarding your claim of paternity in this state's putative father registry, we were able to establish the paternity of Damian John Blake as yours, based on DNA evidence. Miss Miranda Tate did the same, and now both are declared as biological parents of the underage in question, and from now, both of you are able to fully exercise your parental rights."

"So, he's a Wayne now?" Bruce asked anxiously.

"Not entirely," Flat began. "Your son enjoys the status of a recognized illegitimate child since you weren't married to the his mother when he was born. We've been able to convert you into his legal father through the Recognition of Parentage process. He's allowed the use of your surname – if it's what you wish – but you must still file a petition with the court to legitimate your son."

"So, let me see it straight… Are you telling me I still need to file a verified petition before the court to legitimate my son? What is the legal effect of all of this?"

"Yeah. Legitimation is a legal action which is the only way, other than by marrying the mother of a child, that the biological father of a child born in the State of New Jersey may establish legal rights to his child. It establishes that the child may inherit from his legal father and vice versa. Also, it allows you to file a petition for custody and/or visitation," Flat explained.

"A request for custody and/or visitation?" Bruce asked, astonished. "Miranda and I agreed to share joint custody. None of us intend to deny each other's access to our son."

"I'm sure you don't, Mr. Wayne. You people seem to be very, how can I say..." the attorney paused for a second and then added, "civilized. Anyway, your request for custody and/or visitation may be included in your petition for legitimation."

"Can we achieve all this legal stuff as quick as possible?" Bruce asked, a little unsettled by how things were going in that moment.

"Sure, we will," Flat assured him.

"Why so much bureaucracy? Does Miranda need to get through all of this too?"

"No, simply because a mother's biological connection to her child is generally proven through childbirth. The Recognition of Parentage process was enough to establish her as both biological and legitimate mother."

"I see," Bruce said and then sighed.

"And about Mr. Wayne's legal declaration of death?" Fox asked.

"Mr. Wayne must appear in court today, at 2 pm, as part of legally coming back to life," Flat stated. "It's a simple proof-of-life declaration. Just read out a brief, prepared statement to the judge, and then your death-in-absentia judgment will be voided. Do you have any questions about this, Mr. Wayne?"

"It's fine, Mr. Flat, I've been in a courtroom before."

Fox interjected, "Two or three times by my estimate."

Bruce smirked at Fox's humorous comment as the attorney got embarrassed.

"Regarding your inheritance," Flat began as he flipped some paper sheets, "as the sole beneficiary of your estate, Mr. Pennyworth didn't touch a penny of the money, and drew up a legal document giving up his right to receive the inheritance, once you're not dead at all. However, reclaiming the portion of the money that was donated to the city will not be that easy, and..." but Bruce cut him off.

"I have no intent of doing that," he stated adamantly.

"Right. Okay... So, see you at 1:30 pm at the courtroom."

"See you later, Mr. Flat."

With this they exchanged farewells and Bruce and Fox rose from their seats, leaving the lawyers' office.

* * *

_**Gotham City Courthouse, Old Town District, Gotham City**_

On his way to the courtroom, Bruce checked his Jaeger-LeCoultre watch. It was 13:15 and, as always, he had arrived a little before the agreed time to set things up. He and Fox had enjoyed a quick lunch in a downtown restaurant and had spent most of the time discussing about Wayne Enterprises troubles.

Fox was hoping Bruce's return would restore the confidence in the company, especially of the investors, which had been eroded not only by the fusion reactor's project failure but by a string of accusations the company had been charged over the last months.

Fox's skills of good governance and efforts to amend the situation were not enough, so, they agreed to meet again to elaborate a Business Continuity Plan and then to present it to the board of directors.

Once he parked the black Lamborghini, shut off the engine and got out from the car, a crowd of journalists, photographers and camera crews surrounded his tall, commanding figure while a posse of frantic paparazzi bayed for attention. Security guards came to escort and assist him and Fox on their way into the courtroom.

"Step back everybody, please," a security warned.

"Gotham's favourite son is getting legally resurrected. They wouldn't miss this for the world," Fox commented.

However, Bruce just strode along without haste in an apparent oasis of personal peace and got inside the building, as the press kept clamoring and the cameras clicking.

When he had to face the judge, he explained to her what had happened.

"After my bankruptcy, I'd decided to gather what I still had leftover and spent some time away from Gotham. My loyal butler had already left the city a few days earlier. He didn't know about my plans. I rented a small plane and flew myself to my family's Villa in Belize. But there was a storm. I've managed to make a forced landing on water. The airplane crashed down. I almost died, I... I thought that I had, because I spent so many days over that wreckage before I saw land. When I reached it, I wasn't able to contact anyone and Gotham was under siege. My butler – Mr. Pennyworth – and my friends thought that I've been killed along other wealthy citizens. That's all, your honor."

While he was telling the judge his fake story, flashes from the time he had spent in the pit crossed his mind. Lying was not a very honorable option but it was the right thing to do at the moment. He could not just show up in court and say "_I'm Batman._"

"Your Honor," Flat began, "we move to vitiate the death-in-absentia filed after Mr. Wayne's disappearance at an airplane crash nine months ago."

The judge rescinded the declaration of death of Wayne and Flat led him and Fox to a lateral exit in an attempt to avoid the media mêlée.

"Now, onto the offices," Fox said. "Everyone is waiting to meet you there."

"Uh, Lucius, that was... a little bit heavier than I was expecting it to be," Bruce declared with a tired semblant. "I can give you a ride but can I do that tomorrow?"

Lucius did not insist, he seemed to understand perfectly the situation. "Of course. Thank you."

* * *

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

After dropping Fox at Wayne Enterprises Tower, Bruce got back to the Manor. His cell phone rang as he climbed the stairs up to his bedroom. He didn't recognize the number that was calling but still answered the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Brucie, it's Ronnie," a husky and soft voice came from the other side.

"Ronnie? Ronnie Vreeland?" he asked with surprise, wondering how she got his private number.

"Of course, you little silly. Don't you remember your pals anymore?"

"I... Hi," Bruce said, embarrassed.

"How are you doing?"

"Uh... I'm fine. Thanks for asking." He slowed his pace as he approached the top of the stairs.

"I've see you in the news today. Always causing a fuss wherever you go."

"Oh, they were bringing me back from the dead. Legally speaking," he explained.

"It's a good reason to celebrate, don't you think?"

"Hmm... I guess... so," he conceded hesitantly, trying to figure out where she was aiming at.

"What do you think about a party? We have so much to celebrate. Would be the perfect opportunity to introduce your son into society."

"My son? I don't think..." but she cut him off.

"Miranda already has endorsed the idea. She..."

"She did what?" Bruce started to think about all that as something really weird. Miranda liked not a bit of exposing their son.

"Well, she said a party in your honor would be very welcomed and left me in the charge. She was also kind enough to give me your cell number. Geez, I really don't understand why you guys are not together anymore! You two definitely form a cute couple."

Bruce just growled in response. Veronica's wasted verbiage was driving him insane.

"I'll tell you where and when, okay?"

"I'm not sure yet..."

"No need to worry, I'll take care of everything." Ronnie's voice was gone for a minute. "Hey Brucie, I've got to go. My gorgeous husband is calling for me. Have a nice day. Bye."

"Yeah," he replied. "You too. Bye." He put his phone back on his pocket.

How he allowed things get to this point? Vreeland did not open a gap for him to argue against her stupid idea. And why did Miranda agree with this slapstick comedy? He shook off his annoyance as he made his way to the master bedroom.


	10. 9 Day Of Judgment

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Don't forget to read and review._

* * *

**IX - Day Of Judgment**

_**Paget, Berger & Associates Law Office, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

Miranda parked her silver Mercedes along the street and looked up at the antique three-story building matching the number on the card she had in her hand.

She stepped out from the car and began to cross a long boulevard surrounded by trees. The place was empty – not a living soul in sight. For a moment, the sound of her heels clicking along the concrete path was the only detectable noise.

She announced herself and a brunette receptionist escorted her to the main conference room. Once inside there, she was met by a group of attorneys, including her owns.

An old, white haired man rose from the head of the table seat, a wide smile on his face, his hand extended to her. "Good morning, Miss Tate."

She took the hand he offered. "Good morning, Mr...?"

"Berger. Those are some of my collaborators and the members of the investigative committee," he motioned toward the group, "and Mr. Graham and Mrs. Lee, your attorneys."

Miranda nodded towards them in acknowledgment as Berger gestured to her to take a seat at the other end of the table.

"Miss Tate, I'm not sure if you're completely aware of the nature of our meeting. This is not a hearing neither a trial. Sworn testimony is evidence given by a person who is under oath and has made a commitment to tell the truth about the facts and information contained in the statement," he explained. "If the witness is later found to have lied whilst bound by the commitment, they can often be charged with the crime of perjury."

"I understand," she said.

"Your testimony will be recorded for future reference," he told her. "Do you have any doubts?"

When she spoke again her chin was high, her voice steady and strong. "No, sir."

"Then, shall we begin. Raise your right hand," he said holding out the Holy Bible. "Do you solemnly swear or affirm that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, under pains and penalties of perjury."

"I do," she said after placing her hand on the Bible. Miranda felt a tight knot in her gut because she was not going to tell the truth, she was going to try anything she could to get out of this. All of this was basically a useless game perpetrated by Wayne Enterprises competing companies. There was no point in blaming anyone for the terrorist attack due to the fact that nobody would gain anything with Gotham's destruction except the terrorists themselves.

"State your name for the record."

"Miranda Tate."

"Miss Tate, do you understand you are under oath?"

"I do."

In the next two hours, she testified before the committee, answering all questions with resourcefulness and confidence.

When asked about how those terrorists had been aware of a top secret project and how they had got access to its location, she said that the project was of public knowledge and security failures could have happened.

"As I have said many times, as the company's former CEO and the project's major investor, I do feel responsible for the construction of the reactor. And nobody is more committed to getting this right. Mr. Wayne wanted me to take control of Wayne Enterprises and the energy project. He wanted to destroy it. It was me who didn't listen. I put my money on it. I believed in it, not as a weapon of mass destruction, but as a promise of free, clean energy for an entire city. Nobody could imagine that a terrorist group would take us as hostages and blackmail us to take away the reactor from its chamber and turn it into a nuke. But what difference does it make?! It wasn't me, or Wayne Enterprises or Mr. Wayne himself who built a bomb, threatened an entire city and killed hundreds of people. Today is more important to find the people who really did all this and bring them to justice."

Minutes later, Miranda slid her sunglasses on her face as she exited the building. She wished it were as easy to walk away from the glaring auto-disgust that held her stomach in a tight knot as it was to walk away from the building. At least she knew that her efforts to protect not only her, but her son and the company were working out.

_I'll do whatever it takes to protect my family,_ she mused as she got into her car and went away.

* * *

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

On this day, Damian agreed to meet Bruce for lunch in the Manor. Since his mother would have a busy morning, testifying before the investigation committee, and would spend most of early afternoon addressing the last pending issues concerning the purchase of her – their – new home.

She had decided to sell her modern loft and buy a house that had an extra deep backyard for Titus. The property was a newly-renovated, four-story, five-bedroom, five-and-a-half bath brownstone, dating from the mid-19th century, located in the heart of Irving Grove.

A yellow cab dropped off Damian and Titus at the bottom of the driveway to Wayne Manor. He walked to the knocker and knocked twice. Expecting to see him, Alfred opened the door.

"Master Damian, it's good to see you," he said, giving him a warm smile. "I see you brought your loyal companion."

"Hi, Alfred. It's nice seeing you, too," he replied softly as the butler led him around to the rear of the house. Titus followed, leaping, circling and wiggling his tail.

"I couldn't leave him alone. He's becoming a spoiled brat. Even mom is providing him with lots of gifts and pampering him around."

Alfred chuckled. "Do I sense some jealousy around here?"

Damian frowned. "I'm not jealous of a ball of fur," he said flatly.

"If you say so, sir," Alfred replied. "Now, come. Let's feed him and put him in the kennel."

The kennel complex was a warehouse in tudor style designed to house up to five large dogs or slightly more smaller dogs. The place could be heated or air conditioned and managed for elderly or sick dogs, including a quarantine area. It also had a roofless space and a bathing and grooming area.

Titus would be definitely enjoying five-stars facilities.

"Where's dad?" Damian asked Alfred as they were walking to the kennel.

"He's wrapping up some business issues," the older man simply replied.

"Just business or that other type of _business_?"

Reacting quickly, Alfred's gray eyebrows flickered at the same time his mouth tightened into a thin, hard line. "For his own sake, I hope it's just issues related to the company's business."

After taking care of the dog, both them returned to the main house. While they were washing their hands Damian asked if his father would mind if he interrupted his work.

"I'm sure he won't. At this point, a break would be welcomed. Tell him lunch is ready."

Moments later, Damian knocked on the study's door.

"Come in," Bruce answered softly without taking his eyes of the computer's screen.

"Hey, hello!"

Damian's voice made Bruce to stop whatever he was doing and look up. "Hey! How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," he replied, standing few feet away from his father's desk. "Alfred has been waiting for you so we all can sit down and eat together."

"I'm coming. Just reviewing some points of this thing," his eyes turned again to the screen but he kept talking. "He told me he was going to do your favorite dish – steak and french fries."

The simple thought of food made Damian mouth water and he started to get eager to eat.

"Do you have any news on your mother?" Bruce asked nonchalantly.

The kid shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Not yet. She's having a busy day with her testimony and settling the new house stuff. Don't you need to testify too?"

"I've been summoned to do it. So does Fox, Gordon and some city authorities."

"Do you think they would press charges against mother?" the teenager asked, really concerned.

"I personally don't. Wayne Enterprise might be charged, but not your mother alone," he stated with confidence, glancing up, so they could face each other again. "Besides she can handle it easily. She's totally boss." _Not to mention she's a flawless queen of deceitfulness,_ Bruce added only in thought.

The lad smirked and got closer to the desk, noticing that there were some newspaper clippings over it. News from the last days about the new sinister wave of crime that was sweeping around Gotham.

The False Face Society was spreading rapidly through Gotham. Gordon and his team had succeeded in arresting a few petty criminals, who was allegedly involved in more than half a dozen incidents of abduction, disappearance and possible murders of prominent executives. However, according to the news, nobody was able to point or find out who was their leader. Each member of the False Face Society wore a distinctive mask, which caught Damian's attention.

"You've been keeping yourself up to date with the scum of Gotham."

"Old habits die hard," Bruce replied wryly, still focused on his task.

"You're making school. Did you check this out?" the kid pointed to the clippings. "They have a taste for the theatrical."

"Theatricality and deception are powerful agents," Bruce stated and then added quickly, "Done! I've finished. Shall we have lunch?" he asked as he pressed the enter key, rose from his seat and headed toward the door.

"About time," Damian said and immediately followed his father. Taking long strides, he caught up with Bruce.

By this time, he was familiar with Wayne Manor's dining practices: breakfast and the midday meal on the casual dining area adjacent to the kitchen, and dinner in the formal dining room.

"Now that you're here, we can finally sit down to eat," Alfred announced.

Seconds later, everyone sat at the round table on the breakfast room. Goblet's at all places was filled with chilled lemonade.

The meal was filled with a light conversation. Damian informed them he was about to start private lessons and summer school at Gotham University to further develop his academic skills in preparation for University studies. Though his IQ was above the average and his grades at the distance learning school were excellent, still was not enough for him to be accepted into a so-called Ivy League school. A step that apparently his parents had encouraged and expected him to do.

Also, he was in the process of getting his driver's licence and Miranda had promised to give him a car of his choice. Bruce promptly objected, saying it was his role to do it. Actually, Damian did not care about it. He was not so fond of the idea of dealing with Gotham's nagging traffic jam.

Alfred was genuinely interested in the boy's life and welfare and was more like the grandfather that Damian never had. Occasionally, the older man had made a witty remark or told funny stories about Bruce's early life. The teenager almost fell off his chair laughing while his father just kept giving Alfred a long, penetrating stare, silently pleading to the older man to stop making fun of him.

"You think you know everything about me, don't you?" Bruce asked Alfred.

Alfred raised his eyebrows to hammer in the emphasis. "I diapered your bottom; I bloody well ought to, sir!"

This definitely made the boy burst out laughing. Even Bruce could not control himself and made no effort to hide a small laugh.

"Well, I think I've embarrassed Master Bruce for long enough," Alfred stated as he rose from his seat. "Now, if you gentlemen allow me, I'm going to tidy up everything."

"I'll help you," Damian said promptly.

For him, it was lovely to spend time with Alfred – and with his parents, of course. It had been a long time since he had felt so loved and secure. Over the past years, Damian had always dreamed of belonging to a real family, and his dream seemed to be coming true.

* * *

_**Gotham Memorial Cemetery, Charon, Gotham City**_

His hands trembled, for soon he would command the spirit power of the material from which his mask had been fashioned. The ebony lid of his father's coffin, from which he now took the mask.

Donning the black mask always recreated him, killing his former identity. Even while giving birth to his new identity and the new identity was death.

Outside the crypt, criminals were assembling around the stone chamber. The group quickly and silently moved through the dark narrow lanes of the cemetery, using only flashlights to guide their way.

"This is it... The Sionis family crypt," one of them pointed out.

"If Laroca didn't swear that membership in this gang paid so good, I'd never come here," another one said.

Black Mask – the leader of The False Face Society – welcomed them with promises of big money for little work.

"You may enter, initiates. Enter... to join the swelling ranks of the faceless. Enter... and become soldiers in the army of Black Mask. Enter, and be welcomed to The False Face Society Of Gotham.

Know that the mask destroys one identity while creating another. Know that the mask recreates its wearer. Know that through the sublimation of personality, inhibitions die and the nature of the wearer is altered. So that deeper drives and more primitive instincts rise to the surface."

Thugs gathered around some kind of makeshift stage over one of the tombs and watched attentively his master's speech. Each of them donned a mask.

"We are all new beings here, and I am your master. I am Black Mask... and I will make you rich. In return you must serve me in other ways... in matters not of loot but of vengeance. There are those who must pay for destroying my former identity. Those who must die for giving birth to my new identity. For creating Black Mask."

Suddenly, he pointed to some thugs. "You two... bring our sheep to be sacrificed."

The men did as Black Mask ordered him to do so. Soon, an executive of a pharmaceutical company was brought to the stage. In front of everyone, Black Mask pronounced his sentence.

"This glop is the defective makeup that caused so many faces to shrivel..." he said as he poured a strange substance into a white mask, "... and you wanna know why I poured it into this mask?"

The captive man just muffled in response. A gag prevented him from speaking. He wriggled and struggled in vain, trying to pull away from his captors. The grip was too strong.

"Because you're one of the pigs who ruined a long-lived family business," Black Masked stated and put the mask over the man's face, "and now you must pay."

The man behind the mask struggled for twenty-nine seconds of agony. By the half-minute mark, life had left him. But the mask did not fall away. It kept stuck onto his face.

"One more down," Black Mask announced, loud and clear as his thugs collected the body to discard it somewhere else.


	11. 10 A Night Of Ice And Fire - Part1

_Hi, everyone. Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Finally, the party! Here there are some notes regarding this chapter:_

_1) Tate's new visual was inspired on Marion Cotillard's new one: www__**.**__imdb__**.**__com__**(slash)**__media__**(slash)**__rm1652138496__**(slash)**__nm0182839 and www__**.**__imdb__**.**__com__**(slash)**__media__**(slash)**__rm1650565632__**(slash)**__nm0182839_

_2) In my mind I coudn't find anyone else to be Oswald Cobblepot other than a little older version of Philip Seymour Hoffman: www__**.**__imdb__**.**__com__**(slash)**__media__**(slash)**__rm3531443712__**(slash)**__nm0000450 . However, I'm open to suggestions._

_3) Casting Roman Sionis was not easy – and still is not. Names as Michael Fassbender and Tom Hiddleston came to my mind but I still can't decide between those two. If __anyone has a better idea, please tell me. I just imagine him being bonny, sexy and bloodthirsty in equal measure._

_4) After much deliberation, I've decided the music that are playing when Miranda and Bruce dance together is "Fall Again" by Glenn Lewis (www__**.**__youtube__**.**__com__**[slash]**__watch?v=Mg7Nk0uw1vI)_

_5) I also reloaded the chapter ten of "Full Circle", just replacing the music I'd chosen for the Masquerade Ball._

_6) Please don't foget to read and review._

* * *

**X - A Night Of Ice And Fire - Part I**

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

Damian stood in front of the mirror and checked out himself for the hundredth time. Tonight would be his litmus test. Tonight he would prove he was able of carry on the Wayne's legacy. From delinquent kid without two pennies to rub together to heir of one of the largest fortunes in the country.

During the last days, any mention of the party made his blood run cold. Although Bruce had reassured him everything would be fine, he was dreading it more than a trip to the dentist.

The guest list ran to several pages of closely typed paper. When he looked down the names he did not recognise most of them apart from ones he had seen in newspapers and the few who already knew him in person. Probably, he must have performed many breakings and enterings among those guests properties in the past.

His father had brushed aside his worries again with his usual ease. "I've asked Veronica to include some guests of your age in her list, so you'll have something in common with them at least and won't be feeling like a fish out of water. People will satisfy their curiosity. The press will get their pictures and won't need to crash our lives again after the event."

His thoughts were halted by Bruce's voice, "Hey, are you ready yet?"

"Uhm... almost. This necktie is knocking me out," he confessed as he was fighting the small piece of fabric.

"Okay. Let me do it," Bruce said and straightened the tie properly. "I always get messed up with this too. Here. Look at yourself."

"A very handsome young gentleman, sir," Alfred conceded as he showed up at the doorway. "Now, you two must hurry up. It's not polite manners to be late at the event you're hosting."

"Alfred is right. Come on, buddy, shake it off. Let's go," Bruce stated, noticing the kid's hesitation. "I'll be right by your side to help you, and so as your mother," he promised.

"Okay," the teenager nodded and they left the Manor onboard the Bentley.

* * *

_**Iceberg Lounge, Lyntown, Gotham City**_

_Show-time_, Miranda mused as the chauffeur brought the powerful top-of-the-range luxury sedan to a halt outside the nightclub main entrance.

As he opened the door and helped her to get out of the car, multiple explosions of paparazzi flash guns emerged from everywhere and her Ice Princess facade took place.

Although she was only in her mid thirties she emanated the brutal assurance of a powerful female at home with the raw politics of the business world. Her enormous wealth and brilliant financial acumen were laced with formidable implacability. She had to struggle a lot over the years to be taken seriously and respected by her male co workers. Behind the shades she always wore her enticing, confident and compelling profile was as unreadable as a granite wall.

Reaching the spacious foyer adjacent to the grand ballroom, she identified herself to the receptionist and finally got a good look at her surroundings.

It was the most extravagant nightclub she had ever seen and Miranda could not quite hide her instinctive shudder of distaste. Though it was the hottest new place in town according to Gotham's jaded in-crowd, she probably would have chosen a more sober lounge to place a party. But the Iceberg seemed to match Veronica Vreeland's taste for eccentricity.

Heedless of the curious glances her incredible good looks were attracting, she lifted the hem of her dress and managed to get down the stairs graciously as her gaze darted around the room.

There was a large pool for pet seals and penguins in the center dining area, an iceberg-like sculpture in the pool, a ship themed dance floor, and polar decor. A tuxedoed band on the sculpture was playing tunes. Ice sculptures of various animals adorned each corner of the large open room. It was a unique and garish experience.

The Iceberg Lounge was going to take that reputation and enhance it. Its customers wanted fun. The owner – Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot – hired only the best chefs, the hottest bands and the greatest lounge acts. His employees were young and attractive.

The place held a large number of celebrities, rich and aristocratic people. Designer gowns together with the most exquisite, beautiful and expensive jewelry graced the female contingent, while the men appeared almost clones of each other in black dinner suits, white pin-pleated dress-shirts and black bow ties. She recognized wealthy scions of the corporate and professional world.

Old and new money were mingling as they sipped champagne and stood for everything she despised – a world of appearances. Image was the only thing anyone was interest in.

As Vreeland acted as hostess and was making the proper introductions, Cobblepot kept visiting all the partygoers at their tables. But none of them would be able to suspect his several criminal activities linked to the city's underworld.

"Darling! How are you? Your new hair is fantastic!" The breathy feminine voice was familiar, and Miranda turned with a smile, exchanged the customary air-kiss, then gave a soft laugh.

"Ronnie. I'm fine, thanks. Has my boy already arrived?"

"Yeah. He and Bruce are circulating among the guests. He's a quite great looking guy and is causing sighs to escape from the girls' lips. If he has inherited his father's genes, he'll be a heartbreaker."

"Hopefully not," Miranda said with a smirk.

But before the stunning redhead could apologize for her goof up, Cobblepot joined them.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of a formal introduction yet. Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot," he said as he offered his right hand.

"Miranda Tate," she replied as she went to shake Cobblepot's hand but he carried her fingers to his lips. Miranda fought a gasp as Oswald offered Veronica a conspiratorial smile.

"Enchanté."

"So the prodigal son finally made it to town."

"I can see opportunities where others see problems and I feel that I can tackle any challenges and succeed. You – as a successful businesswoman – probably think the same way."

"Most of the time," she admitted and surveyed the mass of people, wondering where Damian was.

Suddenly, his voice came from behind, "Mom!"

"Sweetheart," she said as she turned and touched light fingers to his cheek.

"Wow, you're lookin' hot," he teased her.

"And you, young man, are looking amazing," she drawled as Bruce came into view. Her heart leapt to a quickened beat as sensation surged through her veins. _Breathe_, she commanded silently, inwardly cursing the way her body reacted to his presence.

He offered her a musing smile and nodded slightly, "Miranda."

"Bruce. It's nice to see you."

They had not seen or spoken to each other since he got back to the Manor. His eyes were instantly drawn to her collarbone, where the robin necklace rested. Instead of a more expensive and flaring jewel, she had chosen something simpler but meaningful.

"Now if you would excuse me," Cobblepot began, "I have some guest to attend to."

"Sure," Bruce said.

"You cut your hair!" Damian exclaimed as he turned once again to his mother.

"You've liked?" she asked him.

"Yeah, but you look beautiful either way."

"Oh, thanks! That's why you're my favorite son."

"I'm your only son," the teenager stated with a crooked smile on his face.

Soon, Vreeland's russian husband, the mayor and his wife and the Foxes joined them.

Fox had brought his wife – Tanya – and their youngest twenty years old daughter – Tamara "Tam" Fox.

Miranda knew Tam only by pictures. Lucius used to call her affectionately as "_little leftover from the pan"_ – due the fact she was a late-born child. The age difference between her and her siblings – Tiffany and Timothy – was more than fifteen years. According to Tanya Fox, her youngest daughter was a happy and unexpected miracle.

They exchanged pleasantries and spoke about superficial topics for a few minutes, before Tam took the initiative and asked Damian if he want to go for a walk and get to know the place better, what he promptly accepted.

Miranda excused herself and began to circulate, greeting old acquaintances, business partners, co workers and city authorities.

"Ah, Commissioner. It's been a little while."

"Miss Tate," Gordon replied, extending his hand. He had just arrived accompanied by a redhead teenager. "That's my daughter, Barbara."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Tate," the adorable girl greeted.

"Nice to meet you too, Barbara. It's a refresh seeing some young faces around here. No offense, Commissioner, but my son would get bored quickly and throw an emotional outburst if there were only adults in this party."

"That's okay. I know the '_joys'_ of the parenthood. I have two teens," he said with a soft smile. "Jimmy's in a summer camp on the north of the country and Babs is gonna spend some days with me."

"That's great. I hope you two have a great time in here."

"Thank you, ma'am," Barbara replied politely. Miranda got fond of her almost instantly.

Gordon allowed his gaze to skim the great ballroom. "Is Mr. Wayne around here?"

Miranda noticed a hint of anxiety in his voice. "He's over there," she pointed to the place where Bruce became caught up in conversation. A blonde was standing at his side as he conversed with an associate. Miranda realized the woman was leaning on him as if they were intimate. She could recognize her as Natascha Patrenko – the prima donna ballerina of a Russian company and former date of Wayne.

_What is she doing here? _she thought.

"Miss Tate, if you would excuse us, I'm gonna tell him a hello."

"Oh," Miranda squeaked, trying to regain composure. "Sure. See you around."

The elegant staff brought around a constant supply of canapés and drinks. She got a glass from one and took a sip of champagne. Instantly she felt a little better.

The women in the party might be watching her and no doubt judging her, withholding their assessment of her as the mother of Wayne's child, Miranda reflected, but there was no doubt about their reaction to Damian. "He is every inch a Wayne," one elderly matriarch announced with obvious approval.

Bothered by all the attention she was receiving, Miranda disappeared into the throng and sought haven in a kind of living room on the mezzanine level.

* * *

She took another sip of her drink as she kept studying the panels, which decorated the walls of the room.

"Quite a sight," a male voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Yes," she agreed without bothering to look back at her interlocutor.

"I... I'm sorry, did you want to be alone?"

"I am," she said, turning her head and finally recognizing the owner of the voice. A starry smile tilted her generous mouth now.

"Sionis."

"Tate." He let his gaze flicker over her body and face. He noticed her eyes were an incredible shade of blue and her lips looked as if they were capable of inciting a man to commit sin. She carried herself with a natural grace, Roman Sionis conceded – but she looked tired. And jaded. Like a woman who had seen too much, too often. "It's been a long time."

"Indeed." Last time she had glimpsed him once or twice in the basement of the abandoned Stock Exchange.

"You look stunning, if it isn't obvious," Roman complimented.

"Thank you. You're not too bad either."

"For a moment I've thought Medusa's gaze have turned you into stone. You're so focused on these panels," he said as he pointed to the frames on the wall, which were telling the saga of the hero Perseus. "A beautiful lady as you shouldn't waste your time looking at such monstrous creature."

"Well, first of all, I don't consider admiring a piece of art as a waste of time. Secondly, I don't know if you're fully familiar with the Gorgon's myth, but she was originally a ravishingly beautiful maiden that was turned into a monster."

"Would you care to enlighten me?" he asked grimly.

"She was a virgin priestess devoted to Athena's temple. Due her stunning beauty, she was coveted by many men – even gods – but she chose to refuse all of them in favor of remaining faithful to her duties as one of the keepers of the Goddess of Wisdom's temple. One night, Poseidon – the Lord of the Sea – caught and raped Medusa inside the temple. Athena felt insulted and punished Medusa, transforming her beautiful face to something so terrible to behold that the mere sight of it would turn onlookers to stone. From then on she was banished to an island to live alone, away from the eyes of the mankind."

"And then she turned many innocent people into stone, until she was decapitated by Perseus," Sionis added.

"Yeah. Well, many of those people wanted to kill her and they were not so innocent. Because Medusa couldn't be looked upon by another man, she grew bitter and her bitterness turned her hair into serpents, making her to look even more monstrous."

"The scorned woman's epitome."

"Precisely. From Medusa's severed neck, who was with child by Poseidon, sprang her two sons: Pegasus – a winged horse – and Chrysaor – a golden sword-wielding giant. They could not be born before due the anger felt by Medusa, an anger that made her impossible to give birth."

"And the moral of the story is...?" he asked with amusement.

"It's some kind of metaphor. In the beginning, she was a beautiful woman devoted to the Goddess of Wisdom, representing the sovereign female wisdom. After, she was a victim blamed for her victimization. And finally, she was transmuted into a scorned woman. And because of that rejection, she became unable to love and to be loved, and start to hate men due the fact she was no longer a beautiful woman. She became a monster because of the actions of a god and a goddess," she paused for a moment and then continued as she pointed to another panel. "From her death resulted Pegasus, which represents fertility and spiritual creativity. He also represents the Medusa's beautiful side, the side that was hidden and could not be seen because her stagnant pain prevent it to do so."

"Striking story. I feel sorry for Medusa. Feel free to gimme private mythology lessons whenever you want."

"I should charge a price then." The edges of her mouth lifted a little.

Fully smiling, he gallantly offered an arm to her. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, my lady, but this humble man can only pay you with a dance."

"Fair enough," she said with a provocative grim, wrapping her arm through Sionis's.

* * *

Minutes later, Roman was sweeping Miranda around the dance floor. He danced divinely and for a moment she forgot about everything else. Closing her eyes, she moved with the music, relishing the sensations that seeped in. Sionis was an excellent partner. It had been far too long since she had allowed herself a moment of pure enjoyment.

"You're very quiet," Roman said midway through the dance.

"I'm enjoying myself immensely," she said with a quick glance up.

"Mind if I cut in?" Bruce's voice disrupted their dance. Two pairs of annoyed eyes stared at him.

Roman stopped and pulled Miranda away slightly. "Wayne! Thought you were dead." There was definitely a hint of irony in his voice.

"I hate to disappoint you, Sionis, but not yet," he said with a smirk. Grabbing Miranda's arm, he turned to her, "I guess you owe me a dance, _princess_."

Her gray-blue eyes seared right through him but his dark ones kept holding her own. Miranda knew she was in a dangerous mood because she was feeling so sensitive and self-conscious. Only one single night of being under intense scrutiny was pushing her to her limit.

"I don't think so," she muttered and dislodged from his grip.

"And I think you don't wanna make a scene before our guests," Bruce replied.

Miranda's could not help glancing around to see if anyone was paying special attention to them and she noticed a hush fell around the room. Taking a step forward she turned to Sionis, "I'm sorry, Roman. I'll save one dance for you."

Giving a half smile, Sionis stepped back. "Sure, I'll look forward."

Bruce put out a hand and Miranda placed hers in his palm. It would be their most intimate contact in days. This closeness made her supremely conscious of the faint mix of nutmeg and ginger scent of his exclusive cologne. It teased her senses and sent warmth coursing through her veins.

With distinct irritation in her voice Miranda said near to his ear, "How dare you?"

Bruce's hold tightened almost painfully, and with a dangerous smile on his face he looked down and said, "Me? You gave Veronica the party's idea. People are expecting us to give them a show."

"'If only they knew the truth. We are a pair of great pretenders, building our lives over a pile of lies. Giving false testimony just to save our asses." Sadness punctuated every word she said. "There's a wall made of hypocrisy that keeps on surrounding us. What kind of example we are giving to our son?"

Her tone made him frown.

"Damian knows who we really are. He knows that some choices we've made were necessary."

"They really were?" she said as she was feeling the strength of the muscles beneath his jacket. Without even allowing him to answer her question, she changed the subject. "Are you sure you can spare some time away from that russian ballerina?"

"She's socializing right now. Jealous?"

His cool arrogance made her want to spin out of his arms and leave the dance floor.

"Far from it."

Bruce almost laughed it in her face. His head went back, the muscles in the long throat tightening in rejection of her declaration. "And what about you? Roman Sionis? That guy clearly has issues."

"For God's sake Bruce, you think you're the only desirable man in this party," she said sharply.

"Do you think of me as desirable?" he looked down, studying her features with a certain sense of amusement.

"We're finished here," she stated and made a slight movement, intending to walk away.

Bruce tightened his fingers around her waist, pulling Miranda even closer. Heat and tension surged between them. The music kept going but they were not dancing anymore.

"Finished?" he echoed cynically. "We are very far from finished."

"What makes you think that? It's over – done."

"'It's not done. Quite the opposite. It has only just begun. Or have you forgotten what happened between us in Switzerland? You wanted it too. Every bit as much as I did." His voice contained a mix of anger and annoyance and his devil's good looks had intensified. He was tired of her games.

Miranda stared at him, her eyes like a pair of blue topaz stones in a disturbingly white face, no trace of colour along the fine cheekbones. Her mouth was drawn thin and taut, as if to let nothing at all escape from it.

"Nothing has begun," she began "We had sex, that was all. It was just an itch that had to be scratched."

Her tone was sharp, apparently definite. But he knew her well enough to catch the faint tremor on the word, to note the way her eyes did not quite meet his, could not meet his and declare to his face that this was really over. It was no more over for her than it was for him but she was not going to admit that fact easily. She would fight him, all the way on this.

"It was a closure," she continued, trying to sound convincing. "I can't let it go on any longer! We have to stop before we can't stop... Before we can't help ourselves!"

Bruce just uttered something guttural in reply that Miranda was not able to understand and then he was kissing her.

For just a few seconds, she felt the ecstasy of his touch, closed her eyes and surrendered completely to his kiss, as her heart was kicking up. She could only smell his enticing scent and was not aware of the covert glances given them.

When he finally broke the kiss she was pliant in his arms, staring up at him, dazed. He looked impossibly grim.

She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. "Think I need another drink."

She turned and without thinking straight or looking back, she went through the mass of partygoers and reached outside. Her heels clicked against the pavement and sounded like a frantic heartbeat. Once there, she called her chauffeur. Seconds later, the man pulled the car at bottom of the gangway and opened the door.

Already inside the car, she glanced back at the front door of the Iceberg Lounge and fought back the tears that were insisting to burn in her eyes.

In her mind, Bruce just had kissed her to prove his point and provide a show for the audience. It was pure and simple humiliation. He not even had tried to stop her from leaving.

She could hear her deceased father's voice in the back of her mind, haunting her as a bad omen.

_Don't let your feelings blind you. Men such as he do not let the nature of battle affect them. He is a warrior. Death is his maiden._

Biting her lower lip, she finally gave vent to a silent cry. Moments like these, made her sorely self-conscious of the fact that underneath her ice stone-hard cuirass there was a catching fire heart beating.


	12. 11 A Night Of Ice And Fire - Part2

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Sorry for the delay. Be nice and post a review. Your feedback is really important to me._

* * *

**XI - A Night Of Ice And Fire - Part II**

_**Iceberg Lounge, Lyntown, Gotham City**_

"Thank you for rescuing me. All that crap about upcoming events and the latest gossip was freaking me out," Damian admitted.

"My pleasure. But if you want to be part of this world," Tam motioned her hands to the room, "you'll have to get used to it."

A waitress stopped by them, offering tiny crackers covered with caviar.

Damian hesitated. He had never tried caviar before and he could not be able to understand why so much dazzle around fish-eggs.

His companion had no compunctions. She took a couple before the waitress moved on to the next guest, then looked at him.

"Not having any?"

"I'll try one," he said, feeling daring.

Tam gave him one and popped the other hors d'oeuvre into her mouth.

"Mmm," he said, wrinkling his nose. He was not sure caviar would ever become a favorite.

She laughed. "Not your thing, I take it."

Damian shook his head, his gaze on her lips as she chewed the tidbit. _Get a hold of yourself!_

"I'm glad I got to sample it. Now I know I don't have expensive tastes," he said.

She laughed again. "Daddy mentioned that you have interest in engineering, computer and applied sciences."

"Exact sciences caught my eyes."

"Next fall I'll be a Junior student in the B.S.E.(1) Program at Gotham U."

"Really? I'm gonna start summer school at Gotham U next week and, if everything goes well and I get accepted, I'll be a freshman then."

"Not Princeton? Thought you wished to attend the same university your parents did, like some kind of family tradition."

"I want to stay in Gotham."

"So do I." Then she spoke softly and in a kind of enigmatic way. "Three things..."

"Uhm? Three things what?"

"We already have three things in common," she answered with a grin on her face. "Wait... Actually, we have four."

"Four?" Damian joined the fun.

"Yeah. I don't like caviar either," she whispered with a mischievous smile.

Damian laughed. Tam's charming personality was easy to get along with.

The music began and he turned to her. "Care to dance?"

"There's nothing I want more," she answered.

He inclined his head slightly and gestured for her to walk toward the dancefloor.

Placing his hand at the small of her back as they wound through groups of guests chatting and laughing with enjoyment of the evening, Damian noticed some people were throwing curious glances over them.

Seconds spun by as they were on the dance floor moving to the tune the orchestra played so well.

The night was full of magic and Damian felt like he was in an old movie. He was savoring every moment. Tam was a pleasant company and as they were dancing they kept their conversation going. For someone who was the daughter of the head of a huge corporation and genius at business, Tam was a pretty simple girl.

The song ended and another began.

"You are completely the opposite image I had of a girl from Brentwood Academy," he confessed.

"Which was?"

"Uhm, well..." he hesitated slightly, not wanting to appear that she was offending her, "... a preppy. You know."

"I grew up with rich kids. I get eccentric."

"Yeah, you're beyond eccentric. I've never talked to a girl who knows so much about integrated circuits and 4D transistors."

"Shame on me. Instead of being an airhead on a pair of Louboutin's, I'm a geek."

"Please, don't get me wrong." Damian's eyes traveled appreciatively down her body, leaving her skin tingling in their wake. "I definitely wouldn't consider you a geek. I did mean it as a compliment."

The heat of a blush replaced the tingles and she let a giggle escape. Damian thought she was even more beautiful when she did it.

_Get a grip, DJ! She'll never go out with someone like you. She's way out of your league_. _She probably just have eyes for college guys. Older guys._

"Aren't those two dancing together over there your father and mother?" Tam quietly asked his dance partner, who glanced where she was looking.

"Where?" Damian blushed, feeling uncomfortable. Though they were his parents, it was awkward to witness that intimate moment of them, staring at each other as if there was nobody else around. "Yeah," he finally answered, his eyes intently focused on the scene unfolding at the other side of the dance floor.

When their kiss ended his mother seemed to be in a haze. He never had seen her like this before, looking like she was so young, beautiful and in love.

His father was smiling but Miranda's semblant changed abruptly from a dazzled face to a rueful one. Then she spun and got away.

_Damn it!_

Damian swallowed hard. Something had got wrong. Really wrong. He began to develop doubts that someday everything would work out for all three of them.

"Wow! Did you see how they were kissing?" Tam laughed as she saw her new friend blushing a little. "Come. I want to eat one of those french chocolate macarons before they run out," she said, pointing out to a display that was a work of art.

"Go ahead. I'll be there in a few minutes."

When she walked away, Damian started to search for his mother and soon realized she had left for good.

* * *

Selina Kyle adjusted her sleek body on the high barstool seat and looked around, reminding herself that she was not here to critique her surroundings or to reflect that she had never been in such a whimsical place before. She was here as part of her new job.

_For God's sake! Polar decor? Pet seals and penguins in a pool? Does animal rights society allow anything like that?_

She stared at the dance floor and noticed when Bruce Wayne – the honored guest – kissed a brunette and then the woman left as an ice comet.

_Is that really him?_

She heard a lot about him. Read a lot about him. She had seen him staring back at her from old magazine covers. The man had been presumed dead not once but twice. Unerringly, her gaze rested upon him again, a gorgeous male specimen with dark brown hair, striking hazel eyes and a lean, toned body made for sin. They said that you could judge a woman by her face and a man by his body and Wayne had certainly inspired a few private fantasies of many women in that party.

Leaning over the mahogany-and-brass bar, she took slow sips of her drink as she got lost in her own thoughts. Moments later, she asked the bartender for a glass of sparkling water with lemon. At the same time, a male voice mimicked her request and her eyes narrowed.

Bruce Wayne's powerful frame was by her side.

The barman brought their requests. "Would you like anything else?"

"No, thank you very much," Bruce replied.

"That's all for now, thanks," Selina said.

Bruce picked up his glass of water and studied the crystal liquid with a certain sense of amusement, feeling worlds and years away from his usual self.

The night was becoming a completely disaster to him. First, his return to the jet set obligations was a bunch of boredom. Secondly, his reencounter with Gordon had been the oddest situation he had experienced in recent times. Gordon was Batman's friend and loyal ally, but not Wayne's. He thought Jim was going to cry when they shaked hands. Thirdly, seeing Miranda clung to Roman Sionis' body had drove him mad, making the heated thickening of his blood, and he had been about to punch that idiot on the face. Fourthly, when Miranda had walked away from him, he made an attempt to reach her, but Veronica came to his side and insisted that he must speak to some guests who had just arrived.

_Great! Things couldn't get any worse._

He put the glass down and his eyes narrowed. The woman next to him, just mere inches away, was beautiful. Her long black hair was set into a sock bun and made her look like some kind of irresistible witch, with a face as delicate as the elegant black dress which hinted at ripe, firm flesh beneath.

Yes, very beautiful indeed. His eyes glinted in assessment as he studied her profile. It was a particularly attractive profile. Small, cute nose, and lips which looked like folded rose petals. Her creamy skin matched her long and supple limbs perfectly.

Selina could feel Wayne's eyes scanning her with leisurely appraisal and spoke with dry amusement. "If you wanna sweeten sour grapes, I highly recommend something stronger."

Bruce raised his brows. "Excuse me?" he asked her in confusion.

"Me and dozens of the guests saw what happened. The fancy lady turned you down. Believe me, you need a stronger shot."

"Are you speaking to me? he asked again, this time a little coolly.

She turned to him with her cat-like eyes. "Well, I'm not in the habit of talking to myself."

He smiled, his brown eyes gentle with understanding. "I rather stay sober, but thanks for the advice."

She tipped her head, meeting Bruce's dark eyes. He was one of the few men who actually looked at her face while talking to her instead of her chest or body, but she found his stare equally unnerving. "You're welcome, pretty boy."

Bruce stuck out one hand to her. "The name's Wayne. Bruce Wayne."

Selina gave him a slow smile. "I know who you are, Mr. Wayne."

"'Of course, I don't know your name," he persisted.

"That's because I haven't given it to you," she replied blandly. "Selina Kyle," she added, shaking Bruce's hand.

"Good to meet you, Miss Kyle." He looked away for a fraction of second and then back to her... "I don't recall your name on the guest list."

She stiffened a bit at his insinuation, but she did not take the bait. "Perhaps you have selective memory." Selina, strangely disconcerted by that deep dark gaze, sipped her drink. "And I always suspect everyone who has selective memory."

_She's a gatecrasher_, Bruce thought. _Maybe a journalist from a tabloid and she's trying to turn things around._

With a patient smile, he added, "And I always suspect everyone who crash my parties. What a coincidence, isn't it?" It was an arrogant thing to say, but he did anyway.

"It's not a crime, it is?" Her eyes glittered in careless question. "You know, nevermind. I'm gonna get my chances. After all, all cats are gray in the dark." Relaxing again, she took the last sip from her glass. "Perrrfect."

Bruce smiled at her audacity as she got up from her seat. Pulling a manicured hand over his shoulder, she whispered at his ear seductively, "If you want to succeed with women, you have to play nicer." Her husky voice matching perfectly her vivid red lips and sharp nails. "Good night, Mr. Wayne."

_Ouch!_

Then she turned her back to him and walked toward the restroom, leaving him alone.

Almost simultaneously, Damian materialized on his side. "Do you know where mom has gone? "

Bruce's body automatically tensed as he noticed how much the boy was concerned. "She just left. Maybe she went her home. Honestly, I have no idea." He sighed and started to think that Miss Kyle's advice to drink something stronger was not a bad idea at all.

"She's not picking up her phone and looked like she was about to have a breakdown when she walked away."

"Miranda is tougher than you think, son"

"No she's not! What have you done?" Damian asked harshly.

_Oh, boy! Here we go... _Bruce mused. _He's becoming overprotective. Well, I don't blame him._

"You and probably everybody else have seen what I've done," he replied and then added in a conciliatory tone, "Look, why don't we find an excuse and say goodbye to everyone? Then we could leave and try to find your mother, okay?"

Damian noticed his father's voice was filled with weariness. The lad nodded. "Okay."

"Right. Go ahead. I'll call Alfred and talk to Ronnie and Cobblepot."

Damian obeyed him and Bruce rubbed his forehead. He was starting to have a migraine.

This party sucked.

* * *

_**Miranda Tate's house, Irving Grove, Gotham City**_

Damian finally gave in and fell asleep on the couch. The night was also being very difficult for the teenager. He had wished he had not had to attend the party. Awkwardly, his social skills had surprised even himself and the night had not been a complete disaster, except for his mother's vanishing and a small incident involving the Commissioner's daughter.

When he had been looking for his mother, he accidentally had bumped into the redheaded girl, and the glass of chilled coke she was holding turned over in her hand, spilling its contents over her lavender dress.

Damian apologized right away though, feeling bad for the girl. However, the Commissioner's little princess had flown into rage and had been about to raise hell over him. Although he was a glib-tongued person, she had not fallen into his spell.

Thanks to Gordon's and Tam's intervention, the situation had been under control and the hotheaded finally accepted his apologies.

Damian had made a quick mental note to buy a new dress and send it to her as soon as possible. Despite her insane behaviour, he kind of thought she was not that bad. And she also was cute with that little snub nose, getting all bossy.

Meanwhile, Bruce checked his watch for the zillionth time. It was almost half past one in the morning. Suppressing a yawn, he leaned against the kitchen countertop and crossed his arms across his chest.

Alfred had dropped him and Damian off at Miranda's new home and left about two hours ago. Feeling sorry for his always loyal butler, Bruce dismissed him, telling he would find his own way home. It was not fair keeping the older man up just because of the hard headed Miss Tate.

The only sound in the dark room right now was the quiet, insistent tick-tock of the kitchen clock that was next to the doorway.

_Where is she? _

_Is she up to no good?_

_Doesn't she care about her own son?_

_God, she was so damn gorgeous!_

_I want so bad to believe her but she know how to lie._

_Why things between us need to be so complicated? _

Bruce took a breath and stilled his body, stilled his mind. The thoughts retreated and the memories crouched, silent and waiting, in the corners of his heart. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Upon hearing a slight noise outside, he spun his head to his left. Someone was coming in through the backdoor.

Protected by the shadows, he remained alert. Suddenly, an indecipherable figure opened the door and walked into the darkness.

The intruder stopped in front of the kitchen center island for a moment, and in one brutal, effective movement, grabbed a heavy saucepan and swung, intending to slam it into Bruce's head, who was standing behind the attacker like a ghost.

He grabbed the trespasser's arm in an instinctive move, disarming it. The attacker spun and brought its fist right to Bruce's face. He blocked and thumped an open palm on to the intruder's shoulder sending it sprawling into the floor.

It was then he noticed the attacker was wearing a sleeveless silk gala gown and let out a small groan as it fell to the ground.

_Damn it! It's her!_

But before he could say anything, Miranda leapt to her feet and aimed a kick at his head. With years training in the martial arts, Bruce knew he could knocked her out in a matter of seconds. But he would not hurt her. Not again.

"No! Miranda, it's me!" he shouted as he dodged and grabbed her feet, stopping her kick in the air.

"What the hell?!" she finally spoke in disbelief.

Suddenly, the lights were turned on and Damian showed up at the threshold of the kitchen's door as two pairs of widened eyes turned to him.

"What are you guys doing? Trying to kill yourselves as Mr. and Mrs. Smith?"

* * *

_**Miranda Tate's house, Irving Grove, Gotham City, moments earlier**_

After a long walk through the park near her home, Miranda silently got the rear door open with her key and came in. Everything was still, silent, dark.

Her chit-chat with Sionis made her pondering on some deep aspects of her life.

_Why was I babbling on about that? Was I sound bitter? God, I should had find another topic of conversation before he could decide I really am a rejected woman. _

She blinked in the darkness but did not mind reaching for the light switch. She quickly got used to the house's layout and thought it was not necessary to turn the lights on. All around her the house was silent. Empty. At that moment Miranda was conscious of how alone she was.

Suddenly, she realised there was something wrong. Her intuition was saying there was something out of the place.

Miranda instantly froze, sensing danger. She listened as she gazed through the gloom. No sound.

As someone who had been trained by the League of Shadows, Miranda had learnt to respect her sixth sense, so she quickly got a huge saucepan – which was resting over a countertop – and attacked whoever had overrun her property.

Soon, she began fighting against the invader.

_He's good. Really good, _she thought. _An owner of quick reflexes._

Then the man called her name. She was able to recognize his voice.

_Bruce?_

Recognition hit a split second before she stopped and blinked, her vision focusing slowly. Her gaze flicked over his appearance; he was not what she had expected. What was he doing here?

"What the hell?!" she finally spoke in disbelief.

Then the lights were turned on and her eyes, already dilated with shock, widened even further as she heard Damian's voice.

Bruce dropped her leg and Miranda turned to him again. Standing there now, staring at him, at his coldly composed face, so handsome, so blank, she felt the bitterness rush back, filling the empty spaces in her heart and mind.

She cleared her throat, "What are you doing here?"

"We've been waiting you to get back," Bruce replied. His words were careful, controlled and completely without emotion. "Sorry, I thought you were a trespasser. Are you hurt?"

"Only my pride is hurt," she answered quietly.

"About time you got back. Where have you been?" Damian demanded sternly.

She did not like his tone a bit. _Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse._

"I've been around," She replied calmly, unfazed by his angry demand.

"Around?! At one in the morning?! Geez! You've just left the party, out of the the blue, without mind telling us – me – where or why you're going," he said exasperated.

"That's none of your goddamn business," she hissed. "I'm touched by your concern, but really, child of mine, I'm a grown woman."

The kid winced at her words and Bruce's eyebrow arched. Both men stared at Miranda, incredulous.

She never had used this tone with Damian – at least not since they had started living together months earlier.

"Hey, kiddo," Wayne interrupted smoothly. "Your mother is fine but tired and you've certainly had a long enough day to knock off about this time… Why don't you go to sleep and tomorrow you two will have a properly conversation?"

A mix of anger and disappointment crossed the teen's features. "Okay, good night," he said through clenched teeth. Without expecting for an answer, he spun around and trudged up the stairs to his room.

"Good night, son," Bruce said loudly enough to be heard from the stairs.

Miranda closed her eyes for a moment, reliving the rush of relief that had swamped her when Damian had not challenged his father's words. His reaction threatened to burst through her fragile defenses and explode her thinly held self-control. Her defenses were not quite as strong as she wanted. Yet.

"Thank you. I'm in no mood to have an argument with anyone," she admitted, pulling back to look at him.

Sighing, Bruce crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the countertop.

"Maybe you don't care but he was out of his mind with worry, Miranda. He cares about you." _So do I,_ he added in thought.

She leaned against the opposite cabinet and mirrored his crossed arms.

"I didn't mean to cause any trouble or to be so harshly." She shook her head sadly, "I know he cares about me... It's just... I'm exhausted – body and spirit. That's why I'm acting like a cow."

Bruce grinned with amusement. "I know you're upset with me for the way I behaved – not that I'm complaining about our kiss and you shouldn't either. But I know it wasn't the right time or place. So, my sincere apologies."

She tilted her chin. "There's no time or place for us, Bruce. I've meant it when I said that we can't let it go on any longer. It wouldn't work." She paused for a brief moment and took a breath. "The only thing that connects us to each other is our amazing son. Nothing more. Nothing less."

What all this nonsense means? That she does not care about him anymore? He could not bear it if it did. All this had to do with her encounter with Roman Sionis?

"Why did you run away, Miranda?" he asked her softly. He looked straight into her eyes, the dark hazel piercing the gray-blue. "You don't need to get the hell away from me every time we get closer to each other."

Miranda's pulse jumped briefly in excitement before reality hit and her heart dropped like a stone into her stomach. She turned around and lowered her head, putting both her hands to rest on the central island.

"I... It wasn't exactly an escape. I was spent with all that role-playing and you kissed me for the wrong reasons."

"Wrong reasons?" Bruce snapped. "I kissed you to show you that there is still a flame between us. I don't think you're fully over me even now. We both know about it. Admit to yourself," he pressed on.

She gave him a quick glance. "Exactly, you did it just to prove you were right."

_And to prove you still have some control over me. And to mark your territory, once you've been threatened by Sionis,_ she added only in thought and then concluded, "And you are, Bruce, there is still a flame. But no fire is everlasting. Ours is about to be extinguished. All we had is barely alive."

"Have you ever listened to yourself saying all this bullshit? None of what you say makes any sense." His expression darkened, his voice became menacing, but he kept it low. "Don't you think it's about time you stop playing your little game and start being honest with both of us?"

"Oh, do you want honesty?" she asked, turning to face him with renewed determination. "And are you able to trust me now? Okay, let me put things this way – what I want you can't give me and what you want from me you've already got but you can't see with your eyes." She closed her eyes tight for a split second before she raised her gaze to his. "Recently, I've realised it's time for me to move on. Because be stuck in the past only ruined me and everything around. I can't take it anymore."

"Don't you think about Damian?" His lips pouted somewhat in protest. "You've said we should put our differences aside for his sake."

"And I'm sure we've been coming to terms about that. This change nothing in our roles as parents," she said, crossing her arms again.

Jesus Christ, she had to be the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. Even acting like a hag, she made him ache to hold her close and love her with every fiber of his being.

"So, is that all, princess?"

Sadness tinged his features. Since when he felt the urge to call her by the affectionate nickname he had used to had in the past?

Miranda bit her lower lip. The anger was gone, the animosity had evaporated, giving way to a pain that came to surface, to embarrass her, to make her realize how stupid she had been.

"Yep," she replied, her gaze not quite meeting his. "I can call you a cab if you want."

Feeling pathetic with his failed attempt at bringing her some reasoning, Bruce finally headed to the exit, without looking back at her.

"No need, I'll find my own way. Thank you."

She leaned against the doorframe and called out to him, "Bruce!"

_Sorry if you don't understand, beloved, _she mused.

He turned back, his dark expression softening just a little.

Miranda stared at him for a moment before she spoke again, "I'm done with the League of Shadows. They belong to the past now. It's all over."

She could tell by the way he blinked in surprise that the information startled him. Without giving him a chance to reply, she added, "Goodbye, Bruce. I truly hope you may find peace."

Miranda stepped inside and shut the door, leaning against it and sinking down to the floor, feeling like she was coming apart inside.

A strangled sob tore free from her throat as tears rolled down her cheeks. She wept for the end of a faint hope of a happy ending, which irrationally she still had been cherishing in the middle of so much misery.

Outside, Bruce disappeared into the night. For a long time his pride and stubbornness had prevented him to believe in her words. But now, his mind finally accepted what she had said as the truth.

Reality caused him to feel like the biggest jerk ever to walk in two legs.

_Forgive me if you can, princess._

* * *

_(1) B.S.E. - Bachelor of Science in Engineering_


	13. 12 The Day After

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Warning: some little bad language ahoy. Make my day and post a review after reading._

* * *

**XII - The Day After**

_**Miranda Tate's house, Irving Grove, Gotham City**_

Next morning Damian slipped from his bed and quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and T-shirt. The scent of food drew him toward the kitchen, where he found Miranda.

She seemed to be in much better spirits than previous night and very busy in the huge kitchen, preparing breakfast, so immersed in her task she did not even notice his presence.

"Morning," he said laconically as he got his cereal and pulled out a spoon and a bowl from a drawer and the cabinet, respectively.

Miranda turned around to face him. "Good morning, sweetheart," she prompted gently. An expression that might have been considered guilty crossed her features.

Ignoring his mother, he reached for a carton of milk and poured some into the bowl that was already filled with cereal.

An uncomfortable silence was filling the room, but soon the espresso machine began to make sizzling noises, and a tantalizing aroma filled the air.

"DJ, I'm... sorry," she said as she pulled back a bar stool next to him and sank into it. "It's... been so long since I've had someone actually worry about me..." She paused then lowered her eyes. "I guess I'm just out of practice."

Caught off guard by her apology, Damian blinked and color rose in his cheeks. A part of him had been very upset by the crude way she had spoken to him just few hours ago. However, there was another part of him that was able to understand her reaction. The amount of distress that had been imposed to her in recent days was keeping her right on the verge.

"I understand," he replied softly while he took a spoonful of the cereal and then ate it.

"Forgive me?" Miranda said as she met Damian's gaze again, her heart squeezing, her eyes burning.

A smile slithered across his face. "Any day and way, silly."

Miranda sighed in relief. Until then she was scared to death that what had happened could jeopardize their relationship. Reaching to him she took his head into her hands and kissed the crown of it. Then, she lifted his chin making him to look at her.

"Thank you, sweetheart. You know that I love you, don't you?" she asked, trying to reassure herself everything was alright again.

"Love you too, mom," he answered tenderly.

Immediately she hugged him tighter and rained noisy wet kisses all over his disgusted face.

"Yuk!" Damian protested as pink splotches bloomed on his cheeks. "Stop it, mom. I'm not a baby anymore!" he tried again, wriggling like the cartoon character '_Penelope Pussycat'_, not allowing to admit he was loving every minute of it.

Miranda suddenly stopped, loosening her grip and looked straight into his eyes, smiling sweetly. "Yes, you're my baby."

Damian just shook his head in response.

"Now, let's have breakfast," she stated as she headed to the stove where she pulled out a plate filled with fresh cooked pancakes.

"Do you want pancakes?"

"No, I'm fine and I don't wanna be late," he said between one quick spoonful and another.

"Late? I can't quite figure out how an innocent and delicious pancake would make you to be late," she said in an amused tone. "Besides today is Saturday."

She picked one pancake up and poured a large amount of maple syrup on it.

"I agreed to meet some friends."

"Uh-huh," she mumbled as she got a cup of creamy espresso. "What are you guys gonna do?"

"Not a big deal. Get our tongues pierced, get some tattoos too, then hitch a ride to the turf runway and talk to our bookie. You know, the usual stuff," he announced nonchalantly.

One eyebrow rose as she placed her cup on the wooden countertop and fastened her sharp gaze on him.

"Nice try, young man. I almost believe you."

He laughed.

"I don't think that's funny."

The doorbell rang. Miranda reeled around at the same time Damian stiffened and stared toward the front of the house.

"Expecting anyone?" the teenager asked her, curious.

"No," she answered puzzled, taking a last sip of her coffee and placing the cup on the counter before hurried out of the kitchen. Damian followed his mother into the foyer.

"Good morning, may I help you?" Miranda asked as she opened the door and saw a middle aged delivery man carrying the most beautiful bouquet she had ever seen in her life – a mix of ruby red tulips and deep blue iris! She gave an immediate gasp of wonder at their delicate beauty.

"Miranda Tate?" the delivery man asked.

"Oh, it's me," she responded.

_Wow_, she thought with excitement, her pulse racing.

"The gentleman gave instructions to deliver the flowers personally," the delivery man stated as he handed her a clipboard to be signed.

She did it and he finally gave her the flowers. "Have a nice day, ma'am."

"Thank you. Bye."

"They're probably from dad," the boy said excitedly. "It's high time you made it up."

_No way_, she thought, shaking her head. "I don't know yet."

Why Bruce would send her flowers right now if he had not even bother staying in touch for over fifteen years. Probably he was feeling challenged by the whole '_it's over'_ thing. This or... Or he was finally ready to fully trust her. Last night she had not expected him to believe her though she had said the truth.

Perhaps he had realised he still loved her and had found out what existed between them was more than just lust. Well, that was a cowardly thing to do. Just leave it to a man to let flowers do his talking for him.

Miranda searched for a card and found it. Her stomach tensed with anxiety. "You still owe me a dance. How about swap it for a dinner? Would you have dinner with me tonight? Roman Sionis."

_Roman Sionis? Yeah, get real, Miranda, _she told herself, defeat sinking into her bones as her dreams shattered around her.

Bruce was always a practical man and was never so fond of romantic demonstrations. And even if he was, none of it altered the truth between them. They had no future. She was Rã's al Ghul's daughter and a former member of the League of Shadows, and the last thing Bruce needed was a constant reminder of the pain all of them brought him and the city.

"Roman Sionis? Who is this?" Damian asked disdainfully.

"A business partner," she muttered with a hint of disappointment in her voice. She felt her hope having gone down the drain.

Damian could tell by the way she spoke she was not nearly as pleased.

"I'm really sorry, mom."

"There's nothing to be sorry." Shaking off thoughts that led nowhere, she sighed and instantly cheered up, "Now, hurry up! I'm gonna have a busy day. I need to hire a housekeeper. So, I'm gonna spend the next hours making interviews and checking references until mid-afternoon. Then, I'll have to attend an afternoon tea business meeting with Mr. Fox."

"Can we get Mme. Montolieu to work for us here? She's so cool," he pouted.

"Mme. Montolieu is about to retire, baby. She's no longer had the strength to fulfil her duties, due to her advanced age. She deserves a break," she replied and got a crystal vase to put the flowers in. "Do you need a ride?"

"Don't worry, I'll manage," he answered, looking warily at the way she arranged the flowers. "Are you gonna have dinner with this Sionis guy?"

"Don't know. Maybe. Why?" She met his gaze.

"I-I just don't want you get hurt again. I mean... You deserve to be happy but don't rush things."

_I don't want you fall flat on your face,_ he mused.

"Thank you for your consideration but I'm not so innocent. I've been around the block a few times." _I've been taught by your father,_ she added in thought.

"Okay, I'm gonna grab my backpack and then go out."

She nodded. "Have a nice day, chéri."

* * *

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

Alfred walked past covered walls with artwork as he carried a breakfast tray through the vast, empty corridor that led to the east wing of the Manor. When he entered the master bedroom he stopped, looking at a still-made bed. He sighed and turned. A shadow of disappointment and concern crossed his features.

He decided to check the cave. That would explain the emptiness.

Once down there, he walked up a set of stairs onto a platform walkway. The walkway led to a central hub where a large computer console sat.

Alfred frowned. Bruce was not in front of the computer or anywhere to be seen. However, he soon heard the sound of a punching bag being systematically punched. Alfred walked toward the workout area only to find his employer shirtless, sweat gleaming off his body, completely focused in his training.

"I presume not everything went well last night."

"Good morning to you too, Alfred," Bruce drawled between one punch and another, not a bit startled by his butler sudden appearance.

"If you wish to smash the wall, I can easily suggest a large number of other ways of doing it without getting your knuckles broken, sir."

"Maybe, if I have my knuckles broken, this persistent pain inside my chest will go away," he said, almost breathless.

"Was that bad?" Alfred inquired, pitty showing in his eyes.

Stopping to punch the bag, Bruce grabbed a towel and began wiping the sweat off his forehead and neck. He had spent the last couple of hours trying to get Miranda and last night off his mind, but it had not worked. Alfred's question just served to bring everything to the forefront of his mind with blinding clarity.

Her words and reactions, his suspicions, assumptions that lost their power to convince in the chilled light of reality not overshadowed by gut clenching emotion.

_God in Heaven, what have I done? I just haven't wanted to be deceived again._

When she had said she was done with the League of Shadows, the blood drained from his face as he remembered all the things he had said to her, the accusations he had made back in Switzerland and Italy.

They had forgiven each other, of course. But he had still needed to know if she had been telling him the truth about the League. He had hurt her when she had given herself to him freely and the truth had been in her lovely, wounded eyes for him to see.

"I've screwed up everything, Alfred," he paused for a moment and took a breath, this time facing the butler. "But I didn't realize I'd screwed up so badly until now. I've caused so much damaged that this time is beyond repair."

"Nothing is beyond repair, sir. Except death of course, which in your case it seems to always find a way," the older man said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

Bruce let out a long sigh. "I'm serious. She's always loved me but I've kept pushing her away all these years. Now she told me it's over and I can't cope with this." His voice was barely audible when he said the last words.

"So, I presume you really love Miss Tate." Alfred's statement sounded more like a question.

"Yeah... No! I've thought it was just a fling," Bruce spluttered, "I don't know..."

Things were shifting inside his head, but to admit he had been completely wrong would be to contemplate a hell of his own making.

"Oh, please, Master Bruce! Make up your mind," Alfred said, a little bit annoyed by Bruce's hesitation.

"Yes, I do love her! Happy, now?" he confessed, exasperated, as he got a bottle of water.

_Hallelujah_, Alfred mused.

"Have you ever really told her you love her? I mean the lady in question knows about your feelings towards her, doesn't she?"

Bruce took a long sip of fresh water and responded with a shy, almost boyish demeanor, "Of course she knows. Well, I haven't exactly told her that I love her with words but I've somewhat showed her affection in several different ways."

The butler sighed in disapproval, managing to convey both censure and his belief it was all Bruce's fault. "If I may be so bold, sir, for someone who was known for beating criminals to a pulp, your obtuseness never fails to impress me."

The older gentleman was still no fully aware of how dysfunctional their relationship was. In Alfred's eyes, Miranda was a saint that had walked blindly into a situation that she did not anticipate. He did not know who she really was or what she was capable of doing. If he really knew, he probably would not encourage Bruce to raise any hope regarding her or their relationship.

To be called an obtuse by his butler was not a pleasing experience and Bruce gritted his teeth in frustration. His frown slashed his mouth and he walked toward the breakfast tray. Suddenly he got hungry. His usual protein shake was laying on the tray and he drunk it all in one go.

"Come on, old friend." He waved his hands dramatically. "You're so certain. Share your wisdom"

"Well, before you get all your hopes down I highly recommend you tell her about your feelings."

Wayne stood stock still for a moment as if he was pondering Alfred's words and then said, "It's not gonna work. She won't believe me. Besides, she said she was finally ready to move on."

"Probably because she's tired of waiting for you, sir. Your goal is make her trust you again before it's too late."

"Gosh, when my life stopped being an adventure movie to become a pop trash soap opera?" Bruce deadpanned. However, a deep abyss loomed before him, dark, cold, and isolated. If he could not make it up to Miranda, he would fall into it.

Alfred's smile returned. "I wouldn't say a pop trash soap opera. It's more like '_From Here to Eternity_' given the way you two had kissed." He pointed at the folded newspaper lying on the tray. "Page eight. Just a short note in the gossip column, adorned with a photo."

Wayne reached over to grab the newspaper to check it and studied the picture someone had secretly taken. All this gabble around them and matchmaking was giving him a headache. He rubbed the back of his neck and told himself everything would be back to normal a week from now. That he and Miranda were the topic of conversation was enough to upset her, and that, in turn, did not set well with him.

"Quite charming," Alfred began, "but not so impressive as the heist that followed your departure."

"Heist?" Bruce asked, nonplussed.

"First page," Alfred stated and then added as Bruce quickly flipped through the pages, "there is more in the crime pages."

According to the article, a blackout had happened at the Iceberg Lounge around half past midnight, followed by a great robbery of jewels. All present partygoers at that time would have to be interrogated. Apparently, nobody had no idea about what had happened though.

Bruce quickly scanned other headlines. An article in particular caught his attention. One into which raised the suspicion that Oswald Cobblepot was involved in some kind of illicit business scheme. The man claimed the whole thing was an outrageous smear campaign perpetrated by his rivals.

In recent days, the three candidates for the mayor chair were engaged in a war. Hamilton Hill, deputy mayor from Anthony Garcia's era, was struggling for his party's reelection. He had been sworn-in early by the state Governor in the midst of the crisis caused by Garcia's death and the chaos orchestrated by Bane, and his major campaign proposals were revoking the controversial Dent Act and reactivate the Arkham Asylum.

Marion Grange's goals were exactly the opposite of Hill. As the formerly District Attorney, she believed that giving police enough power to arrest and detain every criminal in Gotham was the key to make Gotham a city free of crime. However, Dent Act had become a very unpopular idea between the Gothamites after the disastrous revolution that had swept through the city.

To Grange, reactivate Arkham Asylum was totally out of question, once it was potentially seen by her to be an ideal location under extreme circumstances, such as in Joker's case who was Arkham's sole remaining inmate. The madman had spent the last years locked away in a catatonic state, but rumor had it that Batman's return last year made him showing signs of awakening.

In the middle of the two extremes candidates was standing Mr. Cobblepot. The final player was a bankrupted aristocrat who had rebuilt his fortune through hard work, or so he wanted people to believe. He had not presented very clear proposals yet but his populist rhetoric was getting the attention of many voters.

Bruce turned again to Alfred, his lips quirked at one corner, "It makes me wonder if this was just a random incident or is it a precursor of things to come?"

"I truly hope this won't stimulate you to don the cape and cowl again, Master Bruce. Remember, you have a son now. I don't want to raise another orphan. I'm too old for that."

"Don't worry, Alfred," Wayne assured his concerned butler. "If everything goes well, I won't need to wear the suit again." He twinkled at the older man and walked toward the elevator.

At this point, Bruce could read every emotion that crossed Alfred's expressive face. The smart retort he fought to bite back, the irritation and a begrudging trust.

He only hoped that his most loyal friend would not turn his back against him again when he found out what he had in mind.

* * *

_**Abandoned warehouse, Waterfront, Gotham City**_

When dark night fell, Gotham City's new crime lord was waiting inside his warm Bentley, which was pulled up across from an abandoned warehouse. Without taking his eyes out of the flow of truck traffic to and from the docks outside, Oswald Cobblepot spoke up to his right hand – Russell Waters.

"I heard. It's just the street stuff. It's not worthy my time."

"Still, where there's smoke there's fire," Waters said, concerned.

"No," Ozzy finally turned to face him, unfazed by his employee's reasoning. Russell had spent the last half hour talking about Black Mask. "Where there's fire there's fire. And at the moment I have all the gasoline."

He got out of the car and Waters followed him.

"If some idiot wants to pick up the parking meter change by running the corners, I've got no problem with that."

They crossed the wide street and walked through a dark, narrow alley with yellow, warm lamp.

"Let them dart around the bases for a while," Oswald continued. "Then, if they're actually doing a halfway decent job..." he paused for a second then added, "We'll either fold them in or kill them. Depends on my mood."

Oswald kept talking with such confidence it seemed he had a ace in the hole. "I really prefer burning a whole house down rather than trying to root out a few rats. It's extreme, but y'know. I'm not a very nice person."

When they reached the warehouse frontdoor, Waters decided to break Cobblepot's monologue, "Okay... We can table this for a while. Tell me again, why we are here?"

"Recruitment," he said as he opened the door.

Both men entered the shabby build and were greeted by a solitary slender figure, who was hiding in the shadows.

"Good evening, my lady. So glad you finally agreed to see me." Satisfaction poured from his lips. "Your theatrics was pretty impressive last night."

"Sad most of that stuff was fake," she replied, drawing closer but still protected by the darkness of the room.

"Why this doesn't surprise me? After the last crisis many of them are living in a '_selling lunch to buy dinner_' sort of way," he mocked.

Moving like a panther, very smooth and slinky, Catwoman came to light in front of them.

"It was my visiting card. Hope my performance it's enough to show you that I'm serious about what I do and I don't need to get any reference letter," she said with a husky and seductive voice.

He let out a short, abrupt laugh and then added seriously, "Don't worry, kitten. You've been highly recommended by old fellows. However, your reckless move is going to cost me an arm and a leg. Cops and the press are getting in my hair. I will not tolerate more slips of any kind, understood?"

She shrugged. Bullies did not intimidate her. "Clear as crystal."

Waters, who had until then remained in silence, with only a smile in appreciation narrowing his lips, decided to talk. "Nice outfit... those heels make it tough to walk?"

In one swift movement Catwoman spun around and dug her stiletto into Waters's calf, hardly. He screamed.

"I don't know, do they?" she asked coolly.

"This bitch is crazy, boss!" he shouted out.

"Striking! Now let him go," Cobblepot demanded with a smirk on his face and very pleased with the skills of his newest ally.

Catwoman moved away from the henchman, who kept going with his complaining, lying on the ground.

Ignoring his partner, Oswald began, "Well, the job pays very well – the ultimate tool for a master thief with a record included –, and you get lots of fun. What do you say..."

"How can I be sure it's not just a gangland myth?" she asked, suspicious.

"Rykin Data took it to prototype stage and well... I have my contacts in the corporate world. The rest you can figure out."

"The '_Clean Slate_'..." she said as she walked elegantly around him. "Type in a name and date of birth and within a couple hours that person ceases to exist in any database? Little too good to be true. So why didn't you used it on yourself?"

"Who can guarantee that I already haven't done it?"

His confident tone made her realize he was not lying.

"I'm listening," she replied quietly as he started to explain all she would have to do to gain her ultimate prize – her freedom.


	14. 13 Half In Love, Half In Hate

_I'm sorry for the long delay. I've been busy and I barely had any free time to dedicate to this fic. In addition to that, recent developments in Damian's and Talia's comics counterparts have made me feel sort of creatively drained (and very disappointed with the path that DC comics is taking with those two, especially with Talia)._

_For those who are rooting for Bruce and Miranda's reconciliation, I can't tell you they will end up getting back together well before the end of the story._

_Again, thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. And don't forget to read & review, please._

_Oh, and all the credits to Wayne Foundation Rec Center goes to Heromux Wikia. _

* * *

**XIII - Half In Love, Half In Hate**

_**Through Gotham City Streets/ Wayne Enterprises Tower, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

After dropping Damian off at Gotham University in Chelsea, Miranda drove to Wayne Enterprises Tower. It was a pleasant Monday morning and his first day at summer school. The kid was both excited and focused, unlike his mother, who was concerned about how he would scrap along, being in the middle of older students.

Although Damian had learned to manage on his own since he was nine, and reassured her everything would be fine since most of them were only two years older than him, none of that had convinced Miranda one bit.

Once he had never attended an ordinary school and had been homeschooled – thanks to a distance learning program provided by Thomas M. Stonehill School for Gifted Youngsters –, she was afraid he could feel all that very tedious and would give up attending college, choosing to pursue a career as a crime fighter instead.

For better or for worse, their living together had been bringing out her mama bear side in recent months.

_Stop it! Stop being so overprotective. He's not a little child anymore. He's old enough to make his own choices!_

Sighing, she pushed her growing insecurities aside and turned on the radio just when the traffic light turned red, flicking on the business news station.

_"Following a recent drop in share prices, Bruce Wayne's reappearance in Gotham is fuelling rumours of a crash in several sectors in which Wayne Enterprises is engaged, notably the financial sector and high end technologies."_

"Pft!" She scoffed at the news bulletin as she impatiently tapped her manicured nails on the steering wheel of the Mercedes and added out loud, "Stupid speculation."

Last Saturday, after spending most of the time trying to find a suitable housekeeper unsuccessfully, Miranda had met Lucius for an afternoon tea. He had informed her the committee of investigation had finally been shut down and apparently all of them were free of any charges. Fox had also proudly congratulated her for her efforts in trying to save the city months ago. His comment had made her feel uneasy because if he only knew the whole truth he would never say such a thing.

Miranda had taken the opportunity to express her wish to move away completely from the company by selling her common stock share and quitting her position as chairperson of the board of directors.

Caught completely off guard by her announcement, Fox had concernedly asked her why she was doing that.

"I need a change of scenery," she had answered undisturbedly.

"Okay. That's an understandable reaction. You've been through a lot recently. But I hope that none of this has to do with your personal relationship with Mr. Wayne."

_Of course, it has. At least, partly_, she had thought at that time.

"It's not a reaction. It's a decision. I'm gonna hand out my resignation and make all the necessary arrangements. I'm just back for few weeks – maybe a month or so – to wrap up my administrative duties."

While overseas, she had kept working through telecommuting, and everyone had assumed that it had been a temporary condition until she could return to the company's headquarters.

"I don't think it's a wise decision. Wayne Enterprises isn't in a good moment and jumping ship right now would only add fuel to the fire," he had pointed.

"Or perhaps it's the right thing to do. Let's face it, Lucius, I've became _persona non grata_ among most of the investors and the current power elite. My resignation could mean to improve the company's image before the media and society and attract new investors."

"You're one of the most competent professionals I've had the honor of working with. You're the kind of manager we need right now. Do you really believe it would be worth giving up on everything just because you think it'll help the company's image?"

"People died because of me, because of decisions I'd made... Because of my naivety and my vanity," she had confessed with honesty and a hint of sadness in her voice. "I should have shut that project down when I had the chance."

Grabbing her hand, he had pressed it gently and had told her fatherly, "People died because of the actions of an insane terrorist. You've had nothing to do with that, Miranda. It´s quite the opposite actually. You tried to save the city, nearly losing your own life in the process. From what I can see you're a heroine."

"I'm not a heroine," Miranda had replied, thwarted. "I did what anyone in my position would do."

"I don't think anyone would jump from a tumbler into a truck in movement," Fox had teased with a smirk on his face.

Miranda's eyes had widened and she had opened her mouth but no sound had came out.

"Commissioner Gordon told me the details when we met last week for our hearings," he had told her. "Please, don't allow your emotions to cloud your judgment. We need all the help we can get and you're one of the most valuable members of our executive board."

Miranda had been touched by his words, but he had been conveying a message between the lines. That she should not bring her personal and professional affairs into the same mix. Fox truly believed that her decision was based mostly on her failed relationship with the Wayne Enterprises owner.

She had put an end to their conversation promising she would stay as long as it takes for the company could recover its stride.

With an enigmatic smile, the CEO had thanked her and said that she would not regret of her decision.

Returning to the present time, Miranda got to the parking lot of Wayne Tower. A disturbing little shiver ran down her spine as she grabbed her purse from the passenger seat, got out of the silver Mercedes and headed toward the elevator.

Today was going to be the day she was coming back to the game. One more time, Miranda would need to be dealing closely with Wayne. She made a mental note to remain easy-going and act in the most professional way possible.

Barely reaching her office's floor, she was bombarded with her PA's to-do list. The young blonde woman had always been a prime example of calm and efficiency even in times of crisis, however, on this particular morning she looked like to be flustered.

"Mr. Wayne wants to talk to you. He gave strict instructions to be notified upon your arrival. And the president of Janus Cosmetics has already called you twice today," she informed as she handed some papers to Miranda.

_Oh, boy! Looks like he's not gonna give up, _Miranda mused.

"Okay. Put him on the line", she replied, undisturbed, checking some files.

"Which one?" Karen Wells said, raising enquiring browns as her boss strode purposefully across the room to her own office.

Miranda breathed out slowly, turning to her personal assistant, "Mr. Sionis," she paused and then added forcefully, before she closed her own office door behind with a quick motion, "And Miss Wells, I don't want to be disturbed in the next half hour. By anyone."

Inside her office, Tate waited until Karen could announce Sionis was on the line. As she had not had his private number, she had chosen to send an email thanking him for the flowers. With minimal effort she easily could have got his personal phone number, however, she thought it would not be proper, preferring instead not to cross the professional and social lines between them.

She sat on her chair and when the intercom biped, she promptly picked up the phone. Sighing, Miranda spun the chair around, keeping her back to the door.

"Good morning, Sionis," she said as she glanced at the vast glass wall, gazing out over Gotham's fantastic view.

"Good morning, Tate. I received your email. Although it was too formal for my taste."

She chuckled. "You're incorrigible. I perfectly know the boundaries of etiquette and social manners. And I'm not really sure if I want to cross some lines."

As a matter of fact, Miranda had no intention of doing so, but lately she realised she was beginning to think more positively of the future, even considering another man. That had to be a sign she was getting better. This or it was what she desperately wanted to believe.

"Oh, come on. We've already passed this stage, don't you think?"

"I don't think that would be..."

"You're overthinking this, Miranda," he interrupted her. "Unless you're seeing someone else, I see no impediment for us to meet each other. How about a dinner? Tonight."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I asked if you'd go out with me tonight. Well, you have to eat, don't you? I suppose I might interest you in dinner. It could be a celebration."

"A celebration of what?" she asked puzzled.

"I've been watching the news about that inquiry committee. Apparently all charges against Wayne Enterprises were dropped last Friday."

He made it sound so reasonable that for the life of her, Miranda could not think of one reason why they should not.

"Look, Roman, you're a very kind man and that's very generous of you. The flowers and everything else – but no, I can't."

"Not acceptable," he said, shaking his head on the other side of the line. "I'll pick you up at your house. All you have to do is tell me what time I should do it."

Miranda sighed, a little bit frustrated. "You won't give it up, will you?"

"Nope," he replied with a hint of amusement in his voice. "What could possibly be wrong with us having dinner together? What are you afraid of? I don't bite, at least not in the first date."

She laughed. "Oh, now it's a date? Well, the truth is I want to stay out of radar for a while." That, at least, was the truth.

"Oh, I see," he paused for a brief moment and added, "but no matter what we do, people are going to talk. We can control that."

"Unfortunately," she said, feeling trapped.

"It doesn't send a strong enough message if we just sit together. Hell, we're footloose and fancy-free. Gossipers have nothing to do with our lives. I guess you're just trying to find an excuse. A poor one by the way."

_Touche_! She could not argue with what he said.

"What about eight o'clock," she prompted softly. "It gives me some time to get off the work and arrive at home to be able to get ready."

"Yesss," Roman celebrated enthusiastically.

Miranda could not help but to smile as well. They said goodbye to each other and she kept staring to nowhere, immersed in her own thoughts. One free hand went as it so often did to the robin pendant around her neck.

Suddenly, Miranda was sucked back into reality when she heard someone clearing its throat from behind her. Turning around, she met Bruce's handsome face harsh and grimly set.

"You!" Miranda exclaimed, her eyes widening in shock even as her traitorous heart leapt as she recognised the man that occupied her dreams.

"Hi, Heartbreaker," he bit out gratingly. "How'd it go with Romeo?"

"What on earth are you doing here?" she asked, shocked rigid. Her insides were shaking. "And how did you get in? Don't you know how to knock on the door?" Stupid questions. "Never mind. Just get out or..."

"Or what?" he cut her off. "I still own this company. I'm the controlling stockholder of Wayne Enterprises. It's my family's name that stands at this building's entrance and I have all the rights to speak with one of my subordinates."

She did not like the ferocious look on his face and suddenly she became a little bit cowed.

When she recovered her composure, Miranda rose from her seat and walked past him, her head high. As she opened the office door, she glared at her PA with obvious fury but her voice remained calm. "Miss Wells, I've thought I made myself pretty clear about not being disturbed."

"I'm very sorry, Miss Tate," Karen said hesitantly. "Mr. Wayne insisted on talking to you, ma'am. He said it was urgent and made it clear that it's he who pays my salary."

_God, he makes me so mad!_

Growling and rolling her eyes, Miranda closed that door behind her with fierce force. She closed her eyes for a split second and then opened only to find Bruce standing right in front of her desk.

Though she believed they had reached a level of mutual understanding, it was hard not getting mad when he acted as an arrogant, obnoxious and overbearing spoiled heir.

"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Mr. Wayne?" she asked, trying not to sound like she was pouring poison from her mouth. But it did, and she did not think she was all that successful in pretending otherwise.

Bruce realised by her tone and facial expression she was really pissed, but even scarlet-faced she was still lovely for him. He ran his hands through his hair. It was that or grabbing Miranda, and he did not trust himself to touch her after witnessing the conversation between her and Roman Sionis.

But he could not take his eyes off her. Her glorious hair styled in a sophisticated chin length chanel with an edgy yet sophisticated asymmetrical bob and the black tailored classic suit dress she wore that fit sensuously over her shapely body. She looked elegant and businesslike, but at the same time beautiful and sexy, and she was driving him out of his mind. He easily could picture her feminine body naked, her soft skin, her mind-blowing plump curves...

Trying to regain focus again, Bruce shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to ease the fierce tension in his long body.

"I believe it's not productive to use working hours to carry out personal activities," he said, letting his eyes rest coolly on Miranda.

_Was that a challenge?_ Miranda asked herself.

Refusing to be intimidated, she looked at him levelly. "And since when do you supervise what each of your employees are doing on a daily basis? Shouldn't you be running a billionaire business?"

"That's why I get Fox to be in charge as I go attend to other issues," he replied casually, his eyes narrowing appreciatively.

"You don't particularly sound like you care about the company that carries your family's name," she teased. They both knew it was not entirely true but she could see that she had hit a nerve.

Ignoring the taunt, Bruce said, "I decided to look you up." His tone was more serious this time.

Miranda looked at him inquiringly as his words echoed through her mind. _Look me up?_

"Fox has mentioned your plans to leave the company," he continued. "What does all this mean? This is your way to hurt me back again? Just when we need all the help we can get?"

Lucius and his big mouth. That explained it. Bruce's sudden urge to talk to her was just because he was afraid that she could quit, harming Wayne Enterprises in the process. For a moment, Miranda had thought he wanted to talk to her about anything else.

Miranda sighed before she indicated a chair in front of her desk and walked around to take the seat behind it. "Sit"

"I'm not Titus," he snapped, but did what she ordered anyway.

_Unfortunately_, she thought. Having to deal with the great dane was much easier than with Bruce.

"Okay, let's cut out the sarcasm because this is getting us nowhere," she broke the growing silence. "If you want to know whether my decision will or won't affect the company's future, fine. As the owner, you have every right to do it. But if you came here looking for explanations of why I'm doing this or to admonish a personal decision, then I suggest you get out of my office," she said tartly.

Bruce stared at her, sitting there, seemingly cool and composed.

"I didn't come here to trading insults or accusations, Miranda. I came because I believe you owe me the courtesy of an explanation."

Even she could not deny that, and after a brief pause she said, "I'm not that irresponsible you must think I am. I promised Lucius I would stay as long as it takes. He told me you two were working on a plan. I would like to study it."

"Sure," he answered, his eyes boring down into hers, she registered the implacable determination in the dark depths.

It was hard not to take things between them to a personal level, but Miranda tried to lead the conversation going exactly as she would rather.

"I'd like to talk to you about Wayne Foundation too. More precisely about the Home for Children. Damian told me they need a space for extracurricular and leisure activities. I've been thinking about a recreational center, not just for the orphans but for all the children in risk situations or underprivileged as well."

"Sounds you've got a plan nailed down," he prompted, surprised by her sudden enthusiasm.

"In fact, I've made a rough draft," she said as she turned to the computer screen. After a few clicks in the mouse, she returned her attention to him, her semblant softened. "I can send you a copy."

"Please." Curiosity getting the best of him, he leaned over the desk and glared at her, "but you also could save time and put me wise to it."

"I've been picturing a huge space with sports facilities. Courts. Perhaps even a pool. Arts classrooms. A study hall," she explained, her eyes focused on a spot somewhere past his head. Every single word was punctuated with growing vivacity.

Needless to say, Bruce felt immediately contaminated by her visions not confined to the crudeness of reality. "Ultimately, a place where young people could develop their skills and potentials."

"Exactly," she agreed with a soft laugh.

A dark eyebrow arched upward in response to a rare expression of genuine contentment. Miranda immediately felt the heat of a blush reaching her cheeks and her brain turned mushy when Bruce egged her on with one of his smiles.

Clearing her throat, she assumed a professional facade again. "There's an old paper mill building available, located at Scituate. Wayne Foundation could acquire for a low price, refurbish and update it. What do you think?"

"I think you're amazing," Bruce said without too much thought, his eyes sparkling with a mix of desire and pride.

Miranda grimaced. "Thank you. I think we're done here," she said, somewhat disconcerted by his compliment and quickly turning her attention to the computer screen again, which infuriated him.

Bruce definitely did not like being treated with such disdain. Especially after he had heard her being so attentive with that idiot of Sionis. So he stood up and leaned his hands on the table, looking across it at her and started to stare.

He worked damned hard to maintain control at all times. What was it about her that made him abandon all good sense?

"Not so fast, princess," he spoke in an arrogant tone. "Is Sionis bothering you? If you want I'll speak to him and let him know..."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she cut in and then gave a slightly hysterical laugh. "Speak to him? Bothering me?" she parroted as she shook her head. "Do you lost your mind? In case you haven't noticed I'm not a damsel in distress, Bruce."

"It's true." Bruce's eyes narrowed sardonically on her beautiful face. "But you've sound on the phone as thrilled as you're gonna have an appointment with the dentist."

Miranda gritted her teeth, getting madder by the minute. Sometimes it was fun to see him being all primal alpha male every once in a while. It was a behaviour that usually stroked her ego. However, when he played the '_me-Tarzan-you-Jane'_ card, it turned out to be pretty annoying.

"Being a little bit melodramatic today, aren't you?" she growled before taking a more conciliatory tone. "I'm having dinner with him. That's all," she paused, sighing. "I've realized it's time to head a new course. You should try to do the same. It's health, you know."

_Over my dead body_, he mused.

He shot her a bland look. "Then forgive me if I fail to be impressed at your lack of perception. I actually did it to protect you."

"I don't need protection," she said curtly as she started to turn again and it enraged him even more.

"Seriously? I don't think it's wise to do that." She stared at him, incredulous as he insisted. "Not before you can decide if you can trust him."

It was no secret that Roman Sionis was one step closer to total financial ruin, and Bruce was afraid he could take some kind of advantage of Miranda's current state of mind.

"That's enough, Bruce. I have a work to do, so do you," she said as she rose from her seat. "And let's get one thing straight, don't stick your nose in where it's not wanted." Sitting again she added, "Now I think you might as well leave."

"Fine." Bruce gave a rueful grin before stepping back and turning toward the door. Growling something unintelligible, he wrenched open Miranda's office door and slammed it behind him forcefully.

Miranda was still frowning as he watched him go. Breathing out slowly, she prepared to check some files.

"Okay, let's get started."

But at this point, her concentration had evaporated and she was lost again in all the things they had once shared, lost in dreams that she did not dare allow herself to believe in.

Lost and completely helpless to do anything about it.

For a brief instant, Miranda wished she could allow herself to forget being reasonable and in control. All she wanted to do was threw herself in his arms and begged for a second chance at love.

Only the deadly fear of being rejected again, of not being loved in return as much as she loved him prevented her of doing so.

She needed to regain focus again before she could do something stupid that would make her regret it for the rest of her life.


	15. 14 Operation Dinner Out - Pt 1

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. All feedback is very important to me, so don't forget to write some few words after reading this chapter. I appreciate all of your comments._

_I know the dynamic between Bruce and Miranda is a kind of tiresome sometimes but I've pictured it like the steps of a dance (two steps up, one step back). My main inspiration came from two Shakespearean famous couples: Petruchio & Katherina (from The Taming Of The Shrew) and Benedict & Beatrice (from Much Ado About Nothing). That's why they always seem to be in a battle. And without conflit there's no plot._

_That said, I would like to mention two notes: (1) The credits about the citation on the roman god Janus goes to the screenwriters of the movie "The Tourist"; (2) This video __**youtu**__.__**be**__[slash]__**56mOEdDzCjY**__ (courtesy of__** www**__.__**thewayneenterprises**__.__**tumblr**__.__**com**__) offered me the necessary inspiration to write about the Wayne Enterprises._

_Hope you guys enjoy it._

* * *

**XIV- Operation Dinner Out - Part 1**

_**Wayne Enterprise's Applied Sciences Division, Wayne Tower, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

"Hey, you," Damian greeted Tam Fox as he crossed the Applied Sciences Division ward door. An ID badge was hung around his neck.

The young woman looked like fully absorbed in front of the computer's screen she barely noticed him approaching at all.

"Why hello survivor!" she replied as she turned to him and then smiled, a joyous salute brighter than the strong fluorescent lights of the room. "How are you doing after your debut in Gotham's society?"

Damian chuckled. "So far so good. I wish I wouldn't have to attend galas anymore."

"It's a case of having to do it. Over time you'll manage – you'll learn." Tam's belief in him was total.

"It's what my parents keep saying over and over again but I don't feel that I belong there. I mean... I've became a Wayne overnight and it's a rule that doesn't seem to fit well with me. All the things I've seen that made me realize I'm in this big world being nothing but a surname," he confessed.

"I've known you for no longer than three days and I can surely tell you that you're more than just a surname, but you also are a Wayne dyed in the wool."

He only nodded and smiled sheepishly in response.

"Now, what can I do for you, Boy Wonder?" she asked after saving her files and standing up from her seat.

_Boy Wonder?_

"Oh, I'm just lazing around waiting for father to show up and take me to a tour around Wayne Tower. Seemingly he's busy right now and we've agreed to meet each other in," he paused for a moment, checking his watch and then added, "twenty-three minutes."

"Well, I can chaperon you in the meantime," Tam offered.

"I don't want to bother you."

With a mocking gleam in her dark eyes, she replied amusingly, "No worries. Be a guide for the boss's son is part of my duties as an intern."

Damian finally accepted her offer, "Fine."

"Excellent. Have you already known the R&D?"

His lips twitched. "Not yet."

"Well, here we are," she said as she glanced around and they started to walk past some small work islands, each one equipped with the latest generation of computers. "Our work here is to discover and create new knowledge about scientific and technological topics for the purpose of uncovering and enabling development of valuable new products, processes, and services."

Tam continued her explanation as Damian listened attentively. As they passed by the workstations, the teenager greeted the employees and sometimes exchanged a few words with them, asking them about what they were doing.

"Wayne Enterprises is the eighth largest international multinational conglomerate in the whole world and covers a wide range of industry sectors and markets. This entire floor and the one above it is occupied by Research and Development. This specific sector here corresponds to the field of engineering and computer science. Where people like me and – maybe someday – you are encouraged to develop our own ideas," she stated.

"So, what have you been up to?" he asked her, curious about her work.

"Well, as a newbie and intern, I've been – most of the time – cataloging the projects. But I've also started a new project as well," she said a little too enthusiastically.

"Sounds exciting."

"Come. Let me show you something," she said as she motioned her head for him to follow her toward her desk.

After a few clicks in the mouse the screen monitor begin to show a 3D CAD model of some kind of exoskeleton with electronic circuits.

"A costume?" he asked, turning his curious countenance to her.

"It's a prototype of an exoskeleton," she explained as she typed some commands on the keyboard and brought up some math graphics and formulas. "The idea is it may restore movement to paraplegics and tetraplegics patients. Unlike current models, there's no need of using crutches or a heavy battery within a backpack. I'm trying to adjust two servomotors to improve the performance without the loss of ergonomics or design."

"This is awesome!" he said as kept analysing the graphics and formulas. His brain was working flat out envisioning the countless possibilities that system could provide.

The two youngsters spent the next minutes talking about Tam's project but at a certain moment she expressed her concern that the prototype might be put aside or end up at Applied Sciences' dead end.

_Applied Sciences' dead end?_ Damian mused.

Since Lucius Fox had taken the position of CEO of Wayne Enterprises years ago, there had been two sectors of the Applied Sciences Division – one for the eyes of the world and one which had remained shrouded in mystery, even to the great majority of the company's staff – the Special Projects Division.

The recently rebuilt SPD was a structure that lay beneath the Wayne Tower and was completely sealed vault with restricted access and an improved sophisticated security system. The place was presumed to be designed to withstand all but direct nuclear blasts.

After Bane's downfall, Fox had taken the responsibility of making SPD's project secretly to get underway. A well-conceived scheme to deceive the public and the staff about the true nature of the construction had been required, reporting it was a mere 'utility upgrade' project.

Unlike the old bunker, the new one was currently located below the tunnel system – instead of above it –, deep underground. For security purposes, the exact specifications of this bunker were classified and only very few people had access to it.

But before Damian could ask Tam about what means the 'dead end', his thoughts were interrupted by his father's voice. "Hey, buddy, ready for a tour through the building?" Then Bruce added to Tam, "Hello, Miss Fox."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne."

"Having a good time?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah! Tam was showing me some incredible things you guys are developing here."

"I'm sure it is. Only the best are working under this roof," Bruce agreed with a smile on his face. "But now, if Miss Fox may excuse us," he started, glancing over Damian's shoulder, "we're cutting things fine. Alfred's gonna pick us up by the end of working hours and it takes a long time to get to know the entire tower."

Both Waynes said goodbye to Tam and left the vast room. It was still mid-afternoon and they had about two hours or so until Alfred would show up to drive them to Wayne Manor.

Damian had his left the university campus early afternoon and he would have one to one private tuition at night in the Manor. That was why he would spend the night there instead of in his mother's house in the city.

"Have you seen your mother?" Bruce asked his son bluntly as he led the way into the lift and pressed a button to the lobby floor.

"As soon as I got here."

Bruce replied with a slight nod of his head.

However, Damian realized that there was something more behind that enigmatic nod – there was a hidden feeling in his father's eyes. He could tell there was some kind of pain...

"Why?" the young man wanted to know.

Bruce glanced back at him with a frown. "Oh, it's nothing, you know. I just wanna know if she is aware you're going to spend the night in the Manor. That's all."

"Uh-huh," Damian muttered, looking at his father with a suspicious light in his eyes.

"You know, she's gonna have a date tonight and..."

"Wait a sec," the kid cut Bruce off. "Seriously?" Damian stared at Bruce, incredulous. His mother did not seem to be the type of woman who got out for a date. And his father looked like to be... jealous? "With whom?" There was definitely a hint of teasing in his tone.

"A playboy named Roman Sionis," Bruce growled.

"The flowers guy?"

"Flowers guy?" Bruce parroted. His frown deepened.

Sensing the growing tension in his father's shoulders, Damian's lips twisted in a mocking smile. "You've been screwing up your chances, you know. The guy sent her a huge bouquet last weekend. I thought it was from you and I guess so did mom. She was clearly disappointed when she read the card."

With an expression that might have been carved from stone, Bruce refused to rise to the bait. "I have nothing to do with your mother's love life. She chose to move on. My only concern lies with your well-being. That's all," he said nonchalantly.

Damian rolled his eyes and tried to issue some kind of a challenge, "Yeah, well, thanks for my part. But it's about time you two accept that you have feelings for each other. In Italy, you taught me to treat a girl like a lady. You should use your own advice on your side."

"I'm not an ogre, you know," Bruce said with a voice dangerously low at the same time the lift stopped, its doors opened and a bald middle aged man stood there in a dark grey suit.

"Oh, Mr. Wayne and young Mr. Wayne! Good afternoon," he said smiling as he led the way into the lift and pressed a button.

Both Waynes replied the greeting in unison. The lift doors closed and they all stood in silence as the lift began to descend.

Bruce was relieved by the interruption that put an end in their conversation but he began pondering his son's words. He did not want to raise Damian's hopes regarding his relationship with Miranda, or brazenly assume she had got him going crazy. That was why he deliberately chose to dance around the issue.

The fact was the problems created by Miranda's continuing hostility were matched by the widespread disruption of Bruce's once regimented and perfectly composed mind. For years he had trained not only his body, but his mind as well, to reach a peak of perfection and control. Now, Bruce was uneasy with the unfamiliar feelings of mental turmoil, frustration and anger regularly assailing him. Since that night they had shared a passionate kiss, his concentration was no longer what it was, nor was his famously single-minded focus zeroed in on business goals alone. All of a sudden, he was suffering from moments of abstraction.

Again, he got himself thinking about Damian's advice. Maybe it was time for a more aggressive approach. He would carefully charm her and entice her into his bed, where he would keep her until he could put some reasoning into her head.

Indeed, regaining Miranda's faith in them was proving to be a defiance, however, Bruce Wayne was a man who played to win.

A smile started to curve Bruce's lips. It was a dangerous game but one he was willing to play willingly.

* * *

_**Miranda Tate's house, Irving Grove, Gotham City**_

The buzzer was ringing shrilly. "Yes, I'm coming," Miranda muttered angrily as she struggled to put on a pair of Ferragamo heels and get down the stairs at the same time.

It had been a long day. Even with her innate business prowess, acting as chairperson and one of the the top managers of Wayne Enterprises was tiring. Endless meetings with majority shareholders or business partners, studying new projects and analyzing profit projections for next months were tasks which pleased her most of the time, but today everything seemed to conspire against her.

It resented her that she barely had time to see Damian or ask him about his first day at summer school. To complete the infamous list of annoying things, a young woman had showed up at her door saying she had been one of the candidates sent by the employment agency for the housekeeper position.

For a brief instant all she had wanted to do was throwing everything up in the air – just take a warm bath and fall into bed.

Oddly, Miranda had agreed to do a quick interview with the young woman and, if worse comes to worst, she would have only made her waste her time.

During the interview, Miranda had received a call from Sionis to confirm the time he should pick her up. She had excused herself to answer the call in another room and had left the woman completely alone in the study. Few minutes later she had got back and just carried on with the interview. At the end of the conversation, Miranda had promised to call the agency as soon as she would be able to make a decision.

The buzzer rang again and Roman was telling her impatiently through the intercom that he was waiting outside. Miranda snorted as she checked herself once again in front of the mirror and grabbed a _Lady Dior _purse.

Miranda opened the door and prompted breathlessly, "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"That's OK." By contrast, Roman appeared to be perfectly relaxed.

For a second she watched as he headed off towards where his silver Porsche was parked – directly outside and he had left the roof down – and then followed him.

He opened the passenger door for her and watched as she settled herself comfortably in the deep leather seat.

He sank down into the seat next to her, but before Roman turned on the engine he asked, "Ready?"

"Yeah," she answered smiling. "Let's go. A girl's gotta eat."

"Right away, ma'am," he replied amusingly as he shoved the keys in the ignition and drove away.

Moments later, Sionis glanced over at her as they stopped at traffic lights and decided to broke the long silence between them. "You look lovely, by the way."

His eyes wandered over her body, appreciating her vintage ladylike gray dress – very simple and elegant.

"Thanks." She tried not to be pulled into the dark seductiveness of his gaze. Roman found it very easy to be charming, and she did not want to allow herself to be lulled into a false sense of security.

Another long silence take place until they reached their destination.

* * *

_**Fox Gardens Restaurant, Midtown, Gotham City**_

Having lobster and caviar in front of them, Roman and Miranda were already enjoying their dinner. A small jazz band was laying in the corner of the restaurant. The lights were low as the place was lit by candles. Large windows offered a spectacular night-time view over the lights and skyscrapers of Gotham City. A few couples were dotted about the tables. It was a romantic atmosphere.

They had spent most of the night talking about amenities. At some point, he asked her about Damian and Miranda started to enlist a number of compliments toward her son. She was really appreciating Roman's company but at the same time she was feeling unsettled. As if there was a void inside her chest that could never be filled.

Sadly, Miranda realized that lightning never strikes twice in the same place and what she and Bruce had had in the past could never be happen again.

_And even if it does, it's life, and it's up to me to sort it out, _she thought.

She was so absorbed in her own thoughts she barely noticed when Roman's smile faded as his thoughts drifted and he began to fiddle with his golden ring.

"It's a beautiful jewel," she encouraged.

"It's the uhm... the Roman god, Janus. My father gave it to me when I was a teen. He wanted to teach me that people have two sides. A good side, a bad side, a past, a future. And that we must embrace both in someone we love..."

"Interesting thought. Your father must have been a very wise man," she said and then took a sip of her fine white wine.

He exhaled, almost a laugh, followed by an ironic smile. A moment, then... "Indeed. He was a man in love with his work and Greek and Roman mythology. My own name and the company's as well reflect that passion."

Miranda knew his parents had died in a fire about ten years ago, so she tried to soothe the awkward atmosphere that was hanging over them and spoke dramatically, "Oh my goodness! You must know everything about Greek myths and still you left me blabbering about Medusa."

"No worries. You gave me a new perspective on the myth – a female one. Now Medusa got my sympathy. But the most important is the moral of the story, isn't? That sometimes you only can reach your freedom by sacrificing yourself and rebirthing under a new identity."

Miranda blinked and for a moment she felt her own mask slipping.

"You know," he continued, "she was a bitter woman stuck in the past. Her daunting face – which turned onlookers to stone – was a symbol of her strong resentment and inability to move on. When Perseus cut off her head, Pegasus sprang from her neck – a winged horse symbolizing wisdom or creativity, but mainly freedom. She reached her freedom through the winged horse."

This was dangerous game but it also was fun.

"Wow!"

He shrugged. "You started it." She just smiled happily in return.

"She once was a beautiful maiden," he paused for a moment and then added, "and probably still was from neck to down. If I was one of those guys I would avoid the problem of her petrifying gaze by having her wear a veil that she can see through but that nobody can see her eyes through. So I could have her every night without being turned to stone."

Miranda laughed out loud and then said, "You're terrible."

"No, I'm just being practical."

"Oh, come on. I bet you wouldn't give a second look to a bagger," she spoke with propriety.

Although Miranda had known Roman for a few years, they just had been spouting no more than social niceties until the day both had been made captive in Bane's dungeon. Up to that point, their relationship had been always distant. While he was well known as a womanizer regularly being seen with different – and always gorgeous – women hitting the party circuit, she was a serious-minded, discreet and reserved woman keen to make a success in business. Her only concession was the biggest, most lavish party she hosted every year to raise an obscene amount of money for charity.

"Wouldn't I?" he asked with a crooked smile on his face. Yet there was something else in his eyes, some strong emotion that squeezed her chest tight just at the tiny glimpse of his passion. Was it pain? Grief? Regret?

"What's up, Roman?"

"It's nothing," he replied, shaking his head vehemently and then took a sip of his wine.

"Seriously, why the glum look and sad talk? Did I say something wrong?"

"It's just..." he paused for a long moment as if he was summoning enough courage to tell her a story. "Once I met a girl. She was the most beautiful and amazing girl that I laid my eyes on. We started to date and she was the face of the company's new advertising campaign. My parents told me she was just a fortune hunter but I was so in love with her that I didn't give a damn for what they said. When I thought we could finally be together forever, she suffered a car crash. She miraculously survived but her face and body are horrifically scarred from the accident. I told her I would love her anyway but she didn't believe me. A few days later she took her own life 'cause she couldn't stand her scarred face anymore."

"Mon Dieu!(1) I'm so sorry Roman. I didn't mean to get into such inappropriate issue," she said with widened eyes.

Roman gave her a sympathetic glare. "That's OK. It's not your fault."

Suddenly a waiter interrupted them, picking up the empty plates and serving the dessert next.

"And what about you? Do you have a sad story too?" he asked.

_Lots of._

She swallowed hard, her throat aching but still she joked about it, "Give me a few hours. I'll think of something."

He laughed, and Miranda could not help smiling in return.

"The always mysterious Miss Tate... But if I may I'd say you've been heartbroken and you're still healing from the wounds. Though you haven't been sitting around pining for him, you just don't see any reason to get involved in another relationship."

"Nice try." She tried to sound nonchalant but her pronounced accent ratted her out.

"Doesn't need to be brilliant to know what's going on. The press is making quite a splash about you and Wayne. There's a grain of truth even in the juiciest slander. Actually, I think that any man who was fortunate enough to be with would have had to be an idiot to walk away."

Miranda winced a bit. "He's not the only one who walked away." The words slipped out and she immediately wished them back.

"He's a jerk. Do you hear me? Wayne's a fool. If I had a chance with you, I'd never walk away."

"Don't flirt, please."

"I'm way past flirting, Miranda. I think you know that." He spoke quietly, his eyes burning into hers as he took her hand between the two of his. She stared at him uneasily until a smile worked its way into her expression.

"Listen, I didn't mean to sound so harsh. It's just that I'm not in a good moment of my life right now, and this may be a bad time," she finally conceded.

"OK, I'm gonna take it slow."

Like an omen, a flash of light followed by a loud bang interrupted them as a thunder crossed Gotham's skies.

"I need to go. I've gotta go to work early morning tomorrow," she said as she dropped her napkin onto the table and motioned to the waiter to bring the check.

"I guess we both have busy days ahead of us. How about we have lunch tomorrow?"

Miranda bit her lip. "Uh-oh... I don't think is gonna be possible but I'll let you know when I'll have a gap in my schedule, okay?"

"What choices do I have," he replied visibly disappointed.

But before Miranda could answer a young host brought the bill and handed it to Sionis.

"Did you enjoy your dinner?" the host asked.

"Yeah, thank you. It was amazing," she answered.

The host nodded very slightly and picked up the bill and Sionis's credit card. Five minutes later the host got back and whispered in his ear, "We're very sorry, sir, but your card has been declined."

Sionis flinched as if the young man had just made an insult. "Excuse me?"

"Do you have another one we could try?"

"Uhm... sure." He gave a soft laugh and turned to Miranda, whose expression remained impassive, "I can't imagine what the problem is." Next, he got another card and handed the host who left.

Less than five minutes later the host was back again. "I'm afraid this one is declined too," he said as he gave back the infamous credit card. A half-hearted smile stamped on his face.

Despite his low tone, everyone around the table heard – and the silence that followed was deafening. Sionis broke into a broad grin, his fragile grip on politeness was slipping. "That's impossible. Try them again," he gritted, still unable to face Miranda.

"I'm so sorry, sir, but I'm afraid..."

"Here, take this one," Miranda cut in and handed the host her own card. The man took it and quickly turned back to the cashier. She held up a hand when Sionis opened his mouth. "I'll pay and I won't take no for an answer."

"No, you shouldn't have," he objected. "There must have been a problem with the magnetic strip or the restaurant's machine."

"That's OK. You can pay next time."

Her soothing tone did not make him feel better. "No, it's wrong. This is not the ways of a gentleman!"

She gave a soft laugh and then said, "Don't be such a male chauvinist. We're not in the Middle Age anymore."

Miranda was aware of his financial issues. There was no point on prolonging that humiliation so she chose to take control of the situation.

Once they get the account paid they walked out of the restaurant. The night was sultry and the thunders in the distance were a promise of rain. As they got into Sionis's car a dark shadow kept spying them from afar.

* * *

_**Translation:**_

_(1) Mon Dieu! = Oh, my God!_


	16. 15 Operation Dinner Out - Pt 2

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Don't forget to review after reading, please._

_I've pictured Bruce's temporary suit like this but without the red lights: **http:**(**slash**)(**slash**)**tiny**(**dot**)**cc**(**slash**)**hms9tw  
**_

* * *

**XV - Operation Dinner Out - Part 2**

_**Rooftop of Sheridan Hotel, Midtown, Gotham City**_

A dark shadow was standing on top of the building opposite the posh restaurant which Miranda and Roman were having dinner. The large glass panels provided a panoramic view of the city skyline and also allowed a full view of its insides.

Wearing a simple stealth suit – just like in the beginning of his career as a crimefighter –, Bruce was perched atop a buttress, partly concealed by a cellular antenna set. He carefully had chosen that vantage point to spy on the couple, so he pulled a pair of high-tech miniature binoculars from his utility belt and looked through the lens of the device.

He scowled. Miranda was smiling and flirting with Sionis and the playboy was encouraging her for devilment, Bruce knew. He was lip-reading the conversation.

_Damn it!_

He was furious with himself. Miranda was starting to become an obsession, he told himself angrily. He had never been so jealous in his entire life and no woman ever had distracted him from his duties – not even Rachel. Since the party night, he had been lying awake every night waiting for the sun to shine, wondering how did their relationship go so wrong.

Seeing her so happy and relaxed with another guy made him feel discouraged for a slight moment. Minutes ago, he was so determined to gain back her love and trust, no matter what it takes. And now he was having second thoughts.

Bruce frowned deeply as he noticed his name was brought into the conversation. Sionis got the nerve to criticize him.

_Moron._

Anger rushed through his blood in a boiling flood as he saw Sionis reaching across the table and placing his hands on Miranda's. She was half smiling and it was hard to read her, though she did not pull away.

Lightning streaked the sky behind him, next a thunder rumbled in the distance as the couple unclasped their hands. A hint of sadness – if not despair – crossed Bruce's features as he remembered a time of shared dinners, laughters, tours and quick trips.

Back then, Miranda had been someone else entirely. Sweet, shy, innocent, naive, a bit vulnerable, in need of protection – or so he had thought. During all that time he had thought he had been granting her a favor while indulging in what he had wanted to do from the moment he had met her.

Looking at her now he just could see a confident, self-assured woman who was not afraid to reach out and take what she wanted, and she wanted more. She wanted what he had been unwilling to offer until now – his own heart in a tray. However, the damn stubborn woman had a very strong belief that now seemed too late for them.

Bruce found it would be almost comical if it were not tragic as he noticed when Sionis cards were declined and Miranda took the initiative to pay the check. Of course he had no pleasure in other people's tragedy, but it was about time for Roman's mask to slip. The guy was just a playboy who had spent his family money on gambling and unbridled spending in the last ten years or so.

_It serves him right!_ he thought as a wicked smile began to take shape on his lips.

Bruce stared through the binoculars lenses as the car bearing Miranda back home drove away. For several long seconds, he continued to stare, even when it disappeared from view. He turned away and stood for a long moment, hands rested on his waist. It annoyed and bewildered him that he had no idea what he was going to do next. He experienced a sudden surge of restlessness, an urge to go do something, although what, he had no idea. He only knew that being here, or in his too quiet and solitary cave was suddenly… unbearable.

* * *

_**Iceberg Lounge Main Office, Lyntown, Gotham City**_

With Puccini blaring in the background, Oswald Cobblepot stared at the cellphone in his hands.

_She's late_, he thought.

While in the main lobby customers were sharing cocktails at an ice sculpted bar or having a meal at the tables, the atmosphere in Cobblepot's office was rather tense.

Things were not doing well in the last few days and it was getting more and more difficult to cover up his secret. This was no good, no good at all. Cobblepot was constantly inquired about his shady dealings, which scared his nightclub's clientele away since no one would want to be seeing close to a criminal – even if he was a white collar type.

But the trouble was turned into opportunity as soon as Oswald took advantage of his recent fame as media target and use it to revert the situation to his side – from possible criminal to a great entrepreneur, a very serious businessman, who was being pursued by its competitors.

He turned off the music and turned on the tv restlessly. His face showed up on the screen. He was surrounded by a crowd of reporters talking indistinctly.

"_Mr. Cobblepot! Mr. Cobblepot!" _they shouted.

"_What do you have to say about the accusations made by Marion Grange?"_ one of them asked.

"_I don't know what I've done to earn this witch-hunt from Mrs. Grange and her fellows at the DA's office. But I can tell you this. I am an honest businessman, and I will fight this slander to my last dime and breath. That's all I have to say, thank you."_

More reporters started to ask indistinctly as he kept walking surrounding by his two well-trained female bodyguards.

"_Can you give us a couple comments about the heist in your nightclub, Mr. Cobblepot? Before you go, sir, please."_

"_Couple of comments about that night, sir. What happened in there?"_

"_Everybody, step back,"_ one of his bodyguards warned.

"_Hey man, I'll make you swallow that Nikon. Back!" _the other one growled as a photographer came too close to Oswald's face.

They finally reached the car and drove away.

"This happens to you a lot, doesn't it?" A female husky voice interrupted his reveries.

Oswald stared at the shadows from where the voice came.

"You're late," he said bluntly.

"Uh... Yeah, things are a bit more complicated than I expected," Catwoman replied as she got out of the shadows. "I've got nothing there. At least nothing that would be of your interest. There was just a few personal files and docs, a bit of cash and investment bonds in her safe. Nothing related to Wayne Enterprises. If there's something in her possession it must be in another place."

"Have you hacked her computer?" he asked uneasily. "Nowadays everything is digital."

"I couldn't," she apologized, ignoring the disapproval look on his face. "Too little time. Her laptop has a sophisticated encrypted security system. The bluetooth device I've used couldn't access the HD."

"I thought you're a professional," he hissed.

"And I think she's the wrong target. You should be wallowing Wayne's home not hers," she said as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her feline dark costume was making her look like even more seductive.

"Wayne is a dumbass. He's just an eccentric billionaire and a skirt chaser. He's the owner of the company in name only. Being Wayne's baby mama gave Tate enough power to got him, Fox and the whole board of directors on a string. That woman is a wolf in sheep's clothing. I'm able to identify one when I see it."

"You're jumping to conclusions, overrating her importance and underestimating his intelligence," she blurted out as she remembered a '_to do list_' over Miranda's desk – there was a grocery list and a reminder to take the dog to the vet. She seemed just an ordinary woman not a hungry vyper type as Cobblepot was picturing.

"Actually, I think I've overrated your skills, Miss Kitty Grimalkin. Or should I say Selina Kyle?"

Catwoman flinched a little bit but remained in silence. Cobblepot grinned devilishly.

"What? Is that your real name, isn't it? For a brief instant your fake accent almost convinced me. Almost..." he paused for a second and then added, "I would be very careful if I were you. You've been hired to steal secret files that could lead Wayne's company to bankruptcy and you're not delivering on your promise."

Without being intimidated, Catwoman came closer, stood behind him and put her hands over his shoulders. Shining metal claws softly brushed against his jacket's fabric.

"Carefully bird man," she whispered close to his ears. "I'm a thief and stealing is what I do. Not so much for the prize or the possession or even the profit... but for the art of doing it... because I can... and because I'm good." She paused for a slight moment before continuing, "In fact, I'm the best at what I do, and what I do sometimes isn't very nice."

Oswald smiled. The girl got the nerve of threatening him. Him. A man very feared and known in the underworld as the Penguin – who, despite his nickname, was a merciless bird of prey.

"Oh, I know. A perfect crime is a work of art, a thing of beauty, and a joy forever, to the paraphrase the Bard. But all I want are results – and fast – Cat-lady. Do you heard me?"

"Perrrrfectly," she purred as she disappeared into the shadows, leaving him alone.

Oswald snorted and closed his eyes for a while. It was not enough to make money, gain power or restore the honor of his family. He must get even.

When he had come back to Gotham City, he was nursing a grudge against the Wayne family, despite it being his own father's folly that had lost the family fortune. It was time to straighten things out.

_And I will succeed. I always do._

* * *

_**Selina Kyle's flat, East End, Gotham City**_

_What I got myself into_? Selina asked herself as she got into her flat stealthily. Her catsuit was already lying inside an old backpack.

For a moment she regretted having accepted Cobblepot's offer. No prize in the world would be worth the price of having to endure a man like that. She always dealt with her contractors at a distance. This time she made an exception and was not enjoying a bit being pushed.

She still had the strong belief Miranda Tate was a waste of time. Yet she got intrigued by the powerful security system that was protecting the house, which was virtually a fortress. It was an impressive level of paranoia that might be justified.

However, once inside the house, there was no alarm or camera system and the safe in the library was very easy to be opened. Maybe Tate had so much confidence in the barriers preventing the entry of unauthorized personnel that she did not care installing alarms in each room of her house.

That was what Selina was thinking. Either way she had chosen to take a shortcut rather than trying to go into a '_breaking and entering' _mode. She had taken the opportunity that had come into her hands and had introduced herself as one of the candidates sent by the employment agency for the housekeeper position.

And the tycoon had fallen for that like a chump. So easy to be true. Selina had got nothing there, except a little souvenir – a golden necklace with a pendant shaped like a robin in a nest.

Selina pulled out the jewel from her pocket and started to admire it. The bird was adorned with shimmering petite cuts of several types of gemstones matching the colors of the real american robin. The nest was made of gold and had tiny little pearls as the eggs, which have been carefully wrapped into the nest. The whole set was accented with luxurious 24-carat gold. The intricate details made the jewel truly a joy to behold as well as to wear.

She could not resist before such delicacy. For a brief instant Selina had thought of gifting Oswald with the necklace as a sign of her commitment to the mission. She knew he had some kind of bird fetish. But at the very last moment she had changed her mind.

Sighing, Selina got a good look at her surroundings. The place was very spartan and had no luxury or any kind of convenience she had been used to. It did not have even a bed and she had been sleeping just over a mattress.

_Well, it's only temporary,_ she thought. _Soon I'll be away from all of this. It's the last time I'll do this._

With these words in her mind, Selina pulled out a fake heater from the wall, revealing a secret passage to a partially hidden room in her apartment that she had built all by herself. It was a cramped confine that allow her to escape from the rest of her home and to continue her work presumably without being discovered.

She went there, turned on her computer and started to make some research. Just in case Cobblepot began to cause any trouble she must have to be prepared.


	17. 16 The Safe Is Not Safe

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Keep sending your feedbacks please._

* * *

**XVI - The Safe Is Not Safe**

_**Miranda Tate's house, Irving Grove, Gotham City**_

On the following morning she had had dinner with Sionis, Miranda woke up at six in the morning and proceeded with her usual routine. A run through the park, a shower, breakfast and then a monotonous drive to work. Miranda had so much to occupy her thoughts all day long she only realized she had been robbed almost twenty-four hours after the incident.

When she got home with Damian late afternoon, Miranda started to look for her adored necklace and then it dawned on her the jewel was nowhere to be found. She remembered leaving it on her home-office desk and it should have remained there, unless someone else had got it.

Doing a brief recap of the previous day she recalled setting the alarm and locking all doors. As she had been the only one who had stayed in the house the night before, suspicion immediately fell upon Miss Joan Robie – the latest candidate sent by the employment agency for the housekeeper position.

"That's a brazen name for a robber," Damian prompted.

"I'll call the police," Miranda replied and then added quickly, "No! I'll call the agency first. Ask them about her."

"Good idea. And so you'll find out Joan Robie doesn't exist at all..." Damian said, rolling his eyes.

Miranda frowned in confusion but did what she had intended to do, only to be informed minutes later that it was not part of the agency's policy to send candidates to be interviewed without previous scheduling. Not to mention the fact there was not any '_Joan Robie'_ in their list of work applicants.

When she told Damian what they had said to her the kid could not repress an _'I've told you so'_ look.

"Do you think she took something else? he asked his mother.

"I-I don't know," she answered, biting her lower lip, her attention flying beyond the kid to the wall. "The painting!"

Damian looked at the wall and then gave Miranda a quizzical look. "Wait a sec, the painting is still here."

"Yeah, but it's wrong placed..." she said quietly, still staring at the wall and holding a finger up to her chin pensively.

"I still can see what's wrong with this painting..." Damian paused for a fraction of second as he glanced again at the modern painting standing on the library's wall. He had never payed too much attention to that bunch of colorful scrawlings until now. Still, he could remember every single ink line on the canvas in perfect detail and the painting was definitely on the contrary.

He took off the painting from the wall and placed it correctly.

"Damn it! The safe," Miranda blurted as she rubbed her forehead.

She took the painting from the wall again, handing it to Damian and then produced the safe, which was locked and there was no sign of breaking in. Next she typed the combination and opened it.

Miranda carefully examined the contents of the safe but everything was remaining there.

"Anything?" the teenager asked.

"I don't get it," she said, confused. "Everything is here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, hundred percent sure. It makes no sense."

Damian chuckled. "Well, maybe she considered robbing the safe but gave up at the very last moment. Or maybe she's not a thief-thief, just a kleptomaniac."

"Kleptomaniacs steal for the thrill, not for hunger or financial deprivation. It's an impulse disorder. If she wanted only the necklace why she would waste her time trying to break into the safe? And by doing that why she didn't take anything? She wouldn't take too much risks for nothing."

"Perhaps because what she was after was not inside this safe," Damian drawled as he glanced through the room searching for tips. He knew how it worked the mind of a thief since himself had been one for years. "Anyway there's a tracking device on the jewel and we can easily find this cat burglar."

"A GPS tracker?" Miranda asked him puzzled. "I didn't put one on that necklace."

"You didn't, but father did. The piece that was in his possession – the golden nest – has a tracker. That's how he had found me when I'd first stolen it."

Shaking her head, Miranda blinked in an attempt to understand the whole amount of information.

"My guess is this thief is a professional," he continued, grinning and pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I'm gonna call dad and tell him to check the trace. In the meantime, take a good look around and see if something else is missing."

"How I could be so stupid?" Miranda asked herself furiously as her eyes did a frantic sweep of the room and zoomed in on the laptop sitting conveniently on the table by the window. A very distressing thought crossed her mind. The potential for damage could be even greater if the thief had access to her computer. She had taken great care to avoid any breach in its security but if the culprit was a professional – as Damian had made a point to stress – she was doomed.

How long had that woman had her laptop for? She had been out for only a few minutes. Unfortunately it would be enough for her to copy the hard drive, gaining access not only to highly confidential business negotiations but also to even more personal and theoretically damaging emails.

"Dad said he's gonna trace the signal," Damian informed as soon as he got back to the home-office, "but he also advised us to contact the police so they can do the investigations at the crime scene and everything else."

Miranda nodded slightly as a hint of dismay crossed her features. "Okay."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, a police car pulled in front of the Victorian brownstone. Flashes and swirls of blue and red were being casted over the gray brick of the building as Tate was anxiously waiting for them in the lobby.

Commissioner Gordon himself responded to the call alongside two other detectives. The experienced cop introduced his co-workers to her – Josh Azeveda and Trey Hartley – and got straight to the point.

"Let's see what happened here, Miss Tate."

"Thank you for coming in person, Commissioner," she said with a faint smile on her face. "I know you're a very busy man and this must be a real meat-and-potatoes situation..."

Gordon gave a little smile. Remembering how this woman had bravely tried to prevent the whole city to be blown up made him feeling as he would always be indebted to Miranda Tate. "That's fine. We really must not underestimate the dangers of any form of crime. But where did the robbery take place?"

She led them to the room where the safe was and explained what had gone on there in the twenty-four hours prior. Both detectives examined the crime scene carefully, looking for fingerprints or any evidence of breaking in. They found nothing.

"We can see straight away it's not a newbie's work," Hartley remarked.

"It's what is called a clean service," Azeveda complemented. "We need to interrogate all the house's staff."

"I've just moved in recently and I've barely had time to hire any employee. There's no one else. Only me and my son," Miranda said.

"Have anyone else known the vault combination lock?" Gordon asked.

"No, not even Damian," she answered. Almost as if by magic, Damian showed up in the room at the mention of his name. They exchanged social pleasantries and the kid answered a couple of questions about the burglary.

"The jewelry has a tracker device. I've already contacted a friend who deals with this kind of stuff and he advised me to call the police as he tries to locate the signal," Miranda spat back out anxiously.

Her comment certainly did not escaped Gordon whose questioning eyes widened in surprise. Yet he kept his mouth shut.

"A friend?" Azeveda asked, frowning.

Hartley just gave his opinion, "Well, that´s not so bad. At least we have a clue about where to start looking for this thief."

"When this friend of yours will get an answer, ma'am?" Azeveda asked suspiciously.

"As soon as possible... I guess." Miranda replied but her voice trailed off at the last words.

There was a brief silence before Gordon managed to speak, putting Miranda out of a tight spot. "Are you able to describe this woman, Miss Tate? So our artists can make a police sketch of the robber's face and we'll run a cross reference with our databases."

"I think I am," she told them.

As Miranda kept talking to the detectives, Gordon took the opportunity to draw Damian into a corner, and speaking in a low voice, but sufficiently audible to be heard by those around, said to him, "I want to thank you for your gift to Barbara and so does her. But really, you didn't need to bother."

"No problem, Commish," Damian replied with a soft smile on his face. "It was the least I could do after messing up her dress. I've just hoped she liked it."

"Yeah, she got marveled at the new dress and was a little embarrassed by her behavior that night. She went nuts for nothing..."

"Assuming it was her first gala and some dumbass just rained on her parade, I would react the same way," the young man conceded.

"Sir, we've got the woman's description," Hartley announced, interrupting them.

"Okay. Let's go then."

"Thank you again for your time, Commissioner," Miranda spoke as the men said their good-byes.

Once they were alone again, Miranda turned to her son and asked, "How long 'til your father has something for us?"

"He told me he'll let us know when he has a clear clue."

"Uh-huh," she simply uttered and then added seriously, "What this thing about giving Gordon's daughter a dress?"

"Uh... well..." the kid started, "I spilled a glass of ice cola over her party gown and – according to her – I ruined it. She got really pissed and threw me a tantrum and I didn't know what to do. Thanks to Tam and Mr. Gordon the situation got under control but the Commissioner's little princess was hard work."

"Were you flirting with her?"

"Who? Me? Of course not. She's just a… Well, she's just a child."

"She's not a child. She probably is the same age as you."

"Whatever. I just did what I thought it was the right thing to do," he replied, taking a defensive stance.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to get in your hair, son, but there's something you ought to know, if you don't already. Wooing every girl who crosses your path it's indeed a path to disaster."

"W-what?" Damian asked, shaking his head in denial, his expression a shock of disbelief as his voice took a peeved tone. "I'm not doing anything like that. I've just wanted to be nice. You're turning everything to dirt."

Unfazed by his angry tone, Miranda stared at her son with a facial expression that made it clear that she was not born last night. Something Veronica Vreeland had said on the party's night came to her in a flash and she could not prevent to bring that issue up.

"If I recall correctly, you've somehow got involved in some kind of friendship with benefits with at least four girls in the past five months. There was that blondie from Park Row, that young bookseller of Montreux, the gardener's daughter in Italy and Lucius Fox's daughter in the last few days. And now Gordon's daughter seems to be your next target..."

"What? Wait a sec," he interjected. No one knew about Sophie. And no one was aware about Francesca but his father. "How did you... Are you spying on me? Did father tell you something?"

"Having eyes in the back of the head is a prerogative for most mothers. Bruce didn't tell me anything and I was not entirely sure until now." At no time did Miranda ever suggest or even hint that she was angry. She just kept a calm but serious tone as she scolded her son's behavior.

_Busted_, the kid thought and then snorted loudly.

"I know that when we're young we want to experience everything and we want it now. Long-term seems to be a foreign concept. And I'm not against it. Actually I'm in favor of enjoying life while we can. But going around messing with other people's feelings it's not nice, either with you or with others. Play with fire and you'll get burned someday."

"If you think I'm a womanizer you're totally wrong and none of those girls are so innocent as you might think," he spat.

"I'm not telling you're a womanizer. I'm just pointing out that you should watch over your manner of conducting yourself before somebody gets hurt, including you."

"Tt," Damian replied only with a sound of clicking his tongue and ran upstairs, not allowing any more time for arguing.

Miranda just shook her head in disapproval. Damian was a young quite mature for his age but in moments like this she recalled that he was only a kid after all, liable to some brat's outbursts once in a while.


	18. 17 A Tender Truce

_Answering a couple of questions: (1) I didn't give up on the story. I'm just busy and I don't have too much time to sit in front of the computer and write though my writing pad is filled with lots of drafts;(2) Damian is 16 years old; (3) Selina isn't "that evil" but she's not a "good girl" either. Well, she's not on the right side of the law, so..._

_Again, thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Be nice and send me your feedbacks after reading this chapter._

* * *

**XVII - A Tender Truce**

_**Wayne Enterprises Tower, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

It was half past one in the afternoon and Miranda still had not done a break for lunch. Spending the whole morning working on her computer or making calls did nothing to improve her mood. After a sleepless night she was tired, sleepy and hungry, and to top that off, she felt caught in the middle of a disagreement with Damian. The kid had saved himself the trouble to even talk to her in the early morning, choosing to take a ride with a classmate to go to college, instead of the usual lift Miranda had been giving him.

Suddenly, the sound of a knock interrupted her. She found it odd since Miss Wells always made the announcements over the intercom. There was a second knock at the door and then at a triple knock, the door opened and Bruce showed up, smiling at her.

"May I come in?"

Miranda's heart still skipped a beat every time she saw him and she had a leaping feeling in the pit of her stomach. He always made her feel like a highschool girl. Anyway, she was not expecting for him to come up but nodded slightly, welcoming him. "Sure."

Bruce stepped inside but remained close to the half open door, his smile never leaving her face. "You see, I've learned how to knock on the door." He was striking and innately sexy, with a careless confidence which drew the eye and made it stay.

Miranda let out a soft chuckle in response then asked politely, "What brings you here, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce stared at her for a split second before answering. Though she had been working at the company for years, just recently he had the opportunity to see her in action. At the office she was calm, capable and all about professionalism – a smart tactics to deceive her deepest insecurities and secrets.

"Care to join me for a meal?" he asked.

Miranda blinked and hesitated for a moment. _Not a good idea._ "Oh, I... I have work to do so I'll be stuck in here for a while. Sorry."

"Actually," Bruce started, ignoring the remark and tilting his head to one side, then walking toward the door. "If you can't get to the food, the food will come to you." That said, he grabbed a tea trolley from behind the door, bringing it into her office. "I'm kind of in the mood for a picnic in the office now. I was told this was the tastiest Kobe beef in town."

She frowned a bit and then opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to work out how to respond. Well, despite everything they were able to be civil with one another. Tender, even. "Oh, this is adorable but you shouldn't have," she said and at the same time her stomach growled loudly as if it was disagreeing with her statement, causing her to slightly blush.

Bruce nodded slightly as though he was paying keen attention and actually listening to what she was suggesting and then his lips curved into an even brighter smile as he started to pick up the food packages. He was not willing to take no for an answer. "It's not what your stomach thinks."

Miranda leaned back in her chair in an attempt to make herself more comfortable and it was then that she noticed the restaurant's emblem – The Ocelot, one of the most luxurious restaurants in Gotham City.

"The Ocelot? I didn't know they had a delivery service."

Bruce gave an expansive shrug of his broad shoulders. "They don't. But I'm the owner so they made an exception," he replied as he kept distributing boxes and tableware on the table. "Could you please open some space? Thank you."

Her lip twitched into a smirk. _Bruce Wayne_. Always the arrogant and self-confident utter aristocrat.

He opened the boxes and introduced the dishes, "For the entree course, we goes with an organic salad with vegetables, croutons and truffle oil. As a main dish we have 'Contre-filet de boeuf Wagyu', in other words..."

She cut him off and finished the sentence, "Grilled Wagyu Beef Striploin."

"Exactly. I know my french sucks."

"Your french is just fine," she said with a slight hint of maliciousness in her voice. The pun intended certainly did not escape him since she noticed he froze for a moment before continuing what he was doing.

Without looking up to face her, Bruce kept going, "And finally, for dessert, your favorite – belgian chocolate mousse. Speaking of which, did you get the gift box set of Amedei I've sent to you?"(1)

"Yep. Thank you. That was... very kind of you," Miranda replied, licking her lips nervously. Looked like Bruce knew she had a soft spot for fine chocolate. The previous day he had sent her a gift box with samples of excellent Tuscan chocolate. It acted as an ideal antidote for the tough night.

For Bruce, the dinner two nights ago was very informative, but also a living nightmare as far as he was concerned. Seeing her next Sionis, so comfortable and relaxed, had made him feel unsettled and a little envious. However he would use all the information he had got to achieve his goal. He would not dance, but he would move his feet in time to the music. Do just enough to tame the beautiful shrew.

Finally he lifted his head and his eyes met hers. "I know you don't like to drink alcohol during working hours so I brought a carton of grape juice."

Miranda could not help but laughing at Bruce's detailing and meticulousness. "Why the sudden desire to have lunch in the office?" she asked, curious.

"What else is there to do at this hour," he answered as he poured some juice in a glass and handed it to her.

"Work?" she replied tentatively and thanked for the drink, "Thanks."

"You're always welcome," he said as he took a forkful of the salad. "Even the most fanatic of workaholics needs a break."

"Look who's talking!"

"Eat," he ordered humorously.

"Yes, sir," Miranda replied in an amused tone. She did not recall signing a treaty or even participating in peace talks, but she and Bruce seemed to have called a cease-fire. A truce of sorts.

Bruce studied her as she rubbed her eye with the heel of her left hand before she started to eat. She was looking like tired, yet ravishing. But he could tell she must have had a hell of night.

"How'd it go with the cat burglar? You've got something for me?"

"Yes and no. I have a trace on the jewel but I don't wanna make any move right now."

"Why not? It's not your decision to make. Why don't you just hand this loafer thief to Gordon before she sells my necklace to profiteers." Miranda's voice sounded a little bit annoyed.

Bruce knew how much that necklace meant to her. Nevertheless, unfazed by her change of tone, he replied, "She won't. She likes it too much. It's like a prize to her. And it wasn't what she was after."

"You and Damian compared notes, don't you? How much do you know?"

"My guess is the culprit is a skilled thief and she was after valuable secrets."

"Corporate espionage?"

"Yep. Did you notice if your computer has been violated?"

She bit at her lower lip as she turned things over in her mind. "I'm not sure. I've got cobalt-level encryption on my tech devices. It's not going to be easy to break. But still..." she paused for a second and then he added:

"She could be a codebreaker and get anything off of it."

An icy chill crept over Miranda's flesh. Like a woman about to confront the biggest mistake she had ever made in her life, her eyes drifted from one point to another no settling in anywhere.

"Keep calm, okay? I'm gonna handle this before any harm is done," he assured her.

"Your new project wasn't there, you know, you don't need to worry about it."

"I am not." _I'm worried about your life and Damian's, _he added in thought.

"So, what are you going to do?" she asked anxiously.

"Nothing... Until I could catch her in a trap."

"As much as I don't like being kept in the dark I'll give you a vote of confidence, but on the condition that you call me back when you got a name."

"Deal," he lied. "But for now, let's just enjoy our meal," Bruce said, putting an end to that unpleasant topic. He was a good conversationalist and took care to avoid any topic that could jeopardize that rare moment between them, so they spent the next minutes discussing a variety of subjects mostly about their joint projects.

Miranda was not being overly friendly, but she was less reticent and made no effort to put a little more distance between.

"You know, when you left half of your fortune to the city, Alfred ensured that the money went to a trust fund in behalf of Wayne Foundation. As the named executor, he had the freedom to decide how the money would be donated. So now, you don't need to be concerned about how the Foundation will get the amount of money to make things work."

"Thanks to you. He told me it was your idea."

"It was the least I could do after everything I'd done." A shadow of sadness crossed her face and Bruce chose that moment to ask about Damian, after all, their son was always a reason for cheering up.

"It was a little bit, hum, tense last night," she confessed after he asked her about the teenager.

"What happened?"

She began to explain what had just happened last night and expressed her concern about Damian's behaviour towards the opposite sex.

"A bit of advice? Chill out and just give him a little room. You know how it's to be a sixteen years old. They change their minds every five minutes."

Briefly Miranda remembered when she had been sixteen. It had been the first time she had dared to challenge her father's authority and the result had not been any good. Blood had been shed and Miranda's soul – or rather Talia's – got marked for the rest of her life. It had been the first time she had experienced the taste of revenge; it was bitter but simultaneously addicting.

"My only concern lies with Damian's well-being. I don't want him to get hurt or heartbroken." _Like I did_, she mused.

"Even you can't protect him for getting hurt once in a while. Maybe he needs to touch the fire to learn that it burns. You know, like you once said, suffering builds character. "

Miranda frowned. The memory of the words she had uttered last fall at Wayne Manor sent chills down her spine. Bruce's line of reasoning was logical yet impracticable for a mother like her. "Whatever, but no one can blame me for taking care of my child." She paused, sighed and then added, "Could you please talk to him? He respects you and has high regard for your opinion."

"I'll try but don't bet all your chips on me. With us as his parents, sure as hell he's a recalcitrant kid," he teased, receiving a rolling eyes look in response. "Are you finished yet?" he then asked, watching her enjoying the last spoonfuls of the dessert.

"Not yet," she answered with a narrow-eyed glare and a satisfied smile on her plump, sugar-dusted lips. "You know, chic restaurant, fine food, a little piece of chocolate heaven... You do things so well, I'd swear you were coming on to me."

"Seems so unlikely?" He eyed her carefully allowing himself to remember everything they had once shared.

Miranda blinked, a little bit disconcerted by how words popped out of her mouth before her brain had a chance to put the brakes on her tongue. Recovering a serious composure, she prompted, "I really enjoyed to share a meal with you but duty calls."

Bruce could not help but lift the corners of his mouth in a slight grin. "The pleasure was all mine," he replied as he started collecting all the boxes and utensils from the table.

_Patience_, he reminded himself. _One step at a time._ It was hard not to giving into the temptation of kissing her fervently or even making out with her, right here and right now.

"We can do this more often. I'd like that. I'll have to check my schedule, of course. And I wouldn't want to be an imposition."

"You wouldn't be. But you know, I've taken off too much work. Alas, I can't do it in a daily basis. However you can accompany me at the meeting with the current Rec's building owner. It's gonna be friday."

"I'm looking forward for that," he stated.

"Have a good afternoon, Bruce." Miranda said.

"You too, princess," he replied, in what was hardly a whisper then turned and left her office, rolling the tea trolley out.

Alone, Miranda sighed and then gave a soft laugh. Bruce Wayne was courting her!

Only God knew how hard it was to have him so close and yet not close enough. Aching for his touch, for his kiss – all for her not to think that he did not see her as an attractive and worthful woman anymore, or that what they had shared had died long ago. Conveying the sense of complacence while she was forced to bury her deepest feelings was not easy. Their passion was rather heavy and could ignite anytime soon.

But in the real world things did not work like in a fairy tale. Being someone with a traumatic, complicated past, who was suspicious of everyone and everything made Miranda become a complicated and conflicted woman.

The fear of getting hurt again was what restrained her for taking the plunge into another trial with Bruce. Moreover, Damian was part of the equation now and although she still loved Wayne their son came first.

The lunch was a peace offering. How long it would last, who knew. But for now, it planted a seed of hope in her heart. Even if they could not be all that they wanted – the happy family that Damian sought – they could still have a good relationship with one another. They could try. For their son's sake and their own.

* * *

(1) _Amedei_ is a fine Tuscan chocolate brand highly appreciated by chocolate gourmets. By the way, I'm not making any propaganda nor earning any profit from it.


	19. 18 Where Darkness Dwells

_Dear readers, I'm very sorry for the long delay. Lately I've been busy and had not much time to write at the same pace I was used to. I truly hope things get back to normal (at least a little bit) from now on. Thanks for being patient and understanding. XXX_

* * *

**XVIII - Where Darkness Dwells**

_**Cave beneath Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

The afternoon flew past and before Damian knew it, it was time for him to go to Wayne Manor and have his evening classes with a private tutor. But he still had some free time before the scheduled hour with Mr. Bennett so he decided to pay a visit to the cave.

The secret headquarters located beneath Wayne Manor was another world. A vast, dank world of perpetual night, unchanged by the centuries, except for the required changes to shelter the Caped Crusader's arsenal and tech devices.

For a boy who grew up idolizing a masked vigilante who went by the name of Batman it was hard for Damian not to be amazed every time he went down there. As soon as the elevator's door opened, the teenager walked up a set of stairs onto a platform walkway. Titus followed, leaping and circling. An incongruous sight drew attention in the end of the walkway and in the middle of all that darkness – a state of the art high-tech super-processing computer.

He walked toward the central hub where a whole control center of video monitors were showing security cameras footage. In one of them, images were moving backward with exaggerated speed as the videotape was rewinding. At the panel, Bruce Wayne hit a button and watched a image of Miranda Tate and Roman Sionis leaving a charming French stylish cafe. The duo seemed to be enjoying a happy hour after work.

"Spying on them?" Damian asked his father.

If Bruce was or was not startled by his son's question, he did not show up. He just stayed still and answered in a undisturbed tone, "Well, hello to you too."

The kid managed to crack a faint smile. "So?" he persisted.

This time Bruce turned around to face him, his gaze was piercing, "Just checking her safety." His rejoinder was blasé, with not a hint of emotion, nothing to suggest he had any feeling left for Miranda at all. As if it felt more like just a obligation than in fact caring about her safe.

However Damian did not buy it for a minute and only chuckled in response as the Great Dane began to wiggle his awkward giant body, sniffing around restlessly until Bruce rewarded him with a pat on the head – something that seemed to calm the dog for a while. As for the young lad, it was clear that his father's concern seemed to transcend the boundaries of some kind of '_hero'_ duty.

Bruce manipulated the console again and this time the computer screen shifted from newspaper clippings and criminal records. The composite sketch of the thief lady flashed on the screen.

"How'd it go with our cat burglar?"

"Well, the tracking signal is pointing to a modest neighborhood at East End," Bruce replied as images of satellites and a map of Gotham popped up at the screen with a signal location. Few clicks after, a particular image was zoomed, then a 3D imagery of a shabby apartment complex appeared. "I've managed to collect and cross-refer some data to figure out who she is."

"Anything?"

"She's a master thief for hire with an affinity for stealing famous and well-protected items. Her name is Selina Kyle." Bruce typed something on the keyboard and a photo collection of several beautiful women – though all were of the same person – was exhibited on the screen. "She's skilled and exceptionally smart, and has avoided being arrested for years."

"And I might add, she's hot as hell," Damian gave air to his thoughts. Titus seemed to disagree with his master's excitement and barked rabidly in protest.

Bruce rolled his eyes as he patted Titus' head. "Easy," he murmured. If it was to the dog or to him Damian could not be sure. "Easy." The dog sank down as he continued, "Her long rap sheet has been recorded in many international databases in the world. Interpol, Europol, Scotland Yard..."

The list of charges against her was enormous and included international burglary, extortion, forgery, fraud, probation violation, prostitution, assault and even imperfect self-defense. This last one had occurred when she had been only sixteen and her defense attorney had claimed it was a justifiable homicide against an abuser pimp. The judge had not taken that into consideration and sentenced her to a long season in reformatory. Somehow Damian felt, albeit unconsciously, that Selina Kyle was as a darker reflection of himself. They shared lots of things in common and yet they were so different, like night and day, fire and water. She definitely was far more dangerous.

"And why no one has been able to catch her yet?"

"Because she's a damn good con artist who successfully adopted different IDs in the last years." While Bruce was speaking, distinct IDs were showing on the screen. Different names, citizenships and physical descriptions. Selina Kyle, Irena Dubrovna, Kitty Grimalkin, Joan Robie – among others – were all the aliases of the same stealing beauty. "But the ground is sinking beneath her feet. She risked herself too much by crashing our party and giving her real name."

"What?" Damian asked, blinking in confusion. "She was at the Iceberg that night?"

"Yeah. In fact we had an interesting chat and now I suspect she was directly involved in the robbery of the guest's jewels."

"Whoa! Are you gonna put your '_other self_' in the case and make a personal visit to her?" the kid asked excitedly, his face glowing with a grin from ear to ear.

"Nope," Bruce replied with his lips pursed in a straight line. "It's not who I am anymore," he murmured lowly in what sounded more like a growl than actual words.

Damian's eyes widened in surprise. "Aw, c'mon. You're not serious!" he exclaimed, voicing his dismay.

Bruce sighed. "No more public rumbling. No more breaking the rules. We do this right. Find out what this woman wants, and then when the moment's right, we take over and hand her to Gordon and his men."

Disappointed, the kid blinked back, his lips curling into a pout that Bruce was definitely blaming on Miranda – despite what Alfred and thousands of childhood pictures of him would say otherwise. "Why don't we just take her out? Be done with it."

"Kyle's world class. She steals high profile targets. And whatever job she was hired for isn't finished. We need to figure out what she was here to steal, and fast. Wayne Enterprises has made lots of enemies over the years, so as your mother in the past few months. Reasons for this crime are not lacking," Bruce explained.

"So why we can't just ask her about her intended target? We have her location. We know who she is. Why we can simply put the screws on her to give us the info we need?"

"'Cause any wrong move may mess everything up. I don't know how much she's bogged down with wrong people and I need to know who's in the charge. I'm trying to find out but I'm hitting dead ends," Bruce acknowledged. He watched as Damian seemed to take his words on board.

"Whatcha gonna do?"

"I'm gonna lure her into a trap. When the coyote returns to her den, she's gonna find out it's actually the lion's den."

The teenager nodded in understanding, "I see..." Though he still thought it was much easier just catching the thief, retrieving the necklace and then handing her to the police. "Well, that's rather optimistic, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so but it's all I can do," Bruce prompted as he sit on a chair in front of a computer console. "I'm gonna make the necessary arrangements." Although he had realised how much he had to live for, he was not afraid of what could happen with himself. He had had more than his fair share of close calls. But now, more than ever, he must consider the safety of his closest family. They were his number one priority and always would be. He could not take the chance of losing them altogether. That was why prudence was the watchword in this case. If there was one thing he had learned in the previous year was that no threat should be underestimated, especially one who lurked in the shadows.

The movement of a flying bat in the distance drew Titus' attention and the dog snorted and shifted before he run towards a far-off corner of the cave.

"Man, how do you guys deal with those flying rats and their... you know, the guano thing?"

"The bats have their own preserve," Bruce replied flatly. Then he spun his chair to face his son again, smiling faintly and staring at him as if he wanted to start a conversation but did not know how.

Damian met his stare. "What?"

"I had lunch with your mother today. She expressed her concerns regarding you and I've promised I'd talk to you." Bruce stated as his son furrowed his brows in initial frustration and offense. "Hear me out before you say anything."

The kid made a sound halfway between a snort and a grunt as Bruce spread his legs wide and leaned down with his elbows on his upper thighs, his hands in a steeple. He took a deep breath. "I think you should forgive your mother if it seemed like she was trying to act like a control freak."

"It was what she asked you to tell me?"

"No, it's me who's telling you now. She asked me to have some kind of man-to-man talk with you, but I guess we've already had and I'm sure I made myself very clear at that time. For now, just spare her for being a little bit a pain in the neck," he requested and grimaced humorously.

Damian kept his face solemn, his clear blue sky eyes serious as he spoke, "It's just... She's fussing around nothing," he mumbled. "And she thinks I'm a douche bag who hit on every single girl who crosses my path."

"No, she doesn't," Bruce began, "She knows you're an incredible young man. But the thing is Miranda loves you very much – we both do – and her only fear is that you get hurt rather than getting someone hurt."

The teenager smirked and nodded slightly and Bruce inhaled sharply, as if he had been holding his breath. "So can you forget her and try to be more sensible towards her mom-like reservations?"

Damian was tempted to say "_Yes, master_", but thought it was wise not to push. Instead he replied without a retort, "Yep."

If there was one thing Damian had learned in the last little while it was that the bond between a parent and a child was too basic to him – or anyone else – as human to deny. This theory had been tested and proven several times in the last months. Of course, being someone who used to be independent, sometimes he felt himself suffocated by his mother's extremely caring. Yet he was able to recognize that her concern made sense. Even he wished she did not get hurt too. They both had been through a lot and that was why they had become – somehow – very overprotective to each other.

Suddenly, Alfred call the boy over the intercom and interrupted the moment, "Master Damian, Mr. Bennett is here for your private class."

"I'm comin'. Thanks Alfred," Damian answered and glanced mutely at his father again.

"Go," the older man ordered. "We'll catch up later. Oh, and don't forget to take Titus up with you, otherwise he's gonna make a mess when getting bored down here."

"Okay. See you." Had said that, Damian whistled loudly and Titus answered his master's call.

For a short while Bruce kept a soft smile on his face as he followed Damian and his dog with the eyes. Looking at that young man, knowing he was his son, filled a missing piece inside of him that had threatened to overpower him without him even realizing it.

Since Rachel's death he had given up all hopes of leading a happily life with wife and kids by his side – despite the vast majority of people's strong belief that he was a confirmed bachelor and in no way daddy material. That firm sense of loneliness had kept pursuing him until last fall when he had been forced to face again the only woman capable of thawing his heart, of bringing a breath of life into his battered soul. From that moment on Bruce had felt the fire of hope lighting up again, but then all hell had broken loose. And just when he had thought nothing more had been left for him he had been blessed with the gift of fatherhood.

From the minute he had put all the pieces of Damian's heritage puzzle together, Bruce had been filled with a maelstrom of emotions so fiercely intense that at that moment, deep within himself, the inner core of everything that he was had been insisting to him that, no matter what precautions they might have taken to deny any sort of consequences, the overwhelming surge of passion he and Miranda had shared had somehow allowed nature to have its way.

Sitting alone in that dark and cold cave, Bruce realized he was still waiting for the last thing that could bring some sense of peace into his life, the thing that could right several mistakes from his past, and this would only be possible if Miranda was willing to accept his love and agreed to give one more chance to them.

He turned his attention to the main screen in front of him again. It was hard to concentrate when his mind kept drifting to the fond moment he had shared with her that afternoon, and the fact that he was allowing his feelings and own worries to cloud his judgement and decisions. Yet he forced himself to study Kyle's file again.

The woman was beautiful. _Hot as hell,_ indeed – as Damian had prompted. A truly '_femme fatale'. _He needed to be blind to not notice it. Well, as the saying went, some women were bad. Some women were a bad idea. The best ones are both... Selina Kyle was one of these '_best women'_ and he himself was completely in love with one.

However, the cat burglar was not the only trouble regarding Gotham's criminal world, Bruce reasoned as the computer screen shifted some newspapers clippings. There was a new gang – the False Face Society. The self-proclaimed Society was recruiting from petty criminals to well known condemned prisoners of Blackgate – those the police had failed to recapture after Bane had set them free from the enormous prison complex –, and it seemed to work more like a strange cult than a criminal group. In fact, their leader was so feared and respected that no one was able to point a name or face to him. Whoever he or she was, it was someone who knew the power of theatricality and used it as a way to control its goons.

Their targets were all prominent executives of the city who were abducted, tortured and murdered. All of them had in common the fact they had worked or were working on Janus Cosmetics – Roman Sionis' family company. The man himself had been the target of a robbery a few months ago. According to the police report, his famous and valuable collection of tribal masks had been stolen from his house. Aside the police no one knew what had happened. The case quickly had got closed at Sionis' own request, presumably to avoid the media circus and to prevent losing investors' support and confidence.

Apparently Sionis' stolen masks were the same that were used by the Society. These facts led Bruce to conjecture about the motivations of the Society's leader. A personal vendetta against Sionis – since he had been involved in gambling and contracted several debts with loan sharks – or maybe a spiteful and desperate former employee who was seeking for '_justice'_ – since to cut costs many employees of the company had been fired recently.

The drastic drop in the stock market during the same period had dilapidated his company and his family estate. Sionis was going through serious financial difficulties and then the robbery had happened.

Anyway, it was clear that there was a connection between the False Face Society and the financial troubles of Roman Sionis. And if Roman was a target in potential, Miranda Tate – as his new friend lady – was one as well. This was enough to make Bruce's blood get cold.

To top that off there was a final player in the game. A new crime lord who was controlling Gotham's underworld under the name of Penguin. Police had not been able to cast his real ID but his nickname was associated with several criminal reports through the city.

_Damn it! _Bruce cursed in thought as he stared at a police report about the Penguin. It was looking like Gotham City had returned to the same point that had been nearly nine years ago. He could not just watch all that and stand still. He needed to do something. And fast.

He sighed and his thoughts were interrupted by Alfred's voice, who walked up carrying a tray of food. "Good evening, sir. I've brought your supper."

"Thank you, Alfred."

"I see you're plunging into some detective work again. Guess I've been naive enough to believe this old habit of yours had remained in the past," the older gentleman said as he set down the tray and took a look at the computer. "I presume this is Gotham's newest menace."

"Not only one but several evils are rising through this city," Bruce said as he turned toward the tray and took a sip of orange juice. "I don't know if the police will be able to deal with this by themselves."

Alfred's shoulders tensed. He certainly could tell what was going on through his Master's head. He could recognize the signs. Wayne was driven, focused and determined once again – which meant he was tempted to don the cape and cown afresh. "If I may be so bold, I have an unsettling feeling that behind this statement lies a secret wish. Am I correctly, sir?"

"You have no idea," Bruce murmured dryly before taking a bite of the food on his fork. Silence stretched between them until he met the butler's intense but quizzical gaze. "What would you have me do, Alfred? Just sit back and watch as those criminals are poisoning my city again?"

"Surely it's not my place to tell you what to do but I must remind you that you're not Batman anymore. Things are different right now. You can't simply go out doing this if you have someone waiting for you to come home every night."

Given Alfred's recent avowals of aversion and antipathy for his vigilant activities, Bruce could scarcely believe the old man would encourage him to face this dangerous endeavor again but he tried to reason anyway, "You're right and I have no wish to put myself on the line needlessly. But I can't close my eyes as the woman I love must be in dangerous or my family's company is threatened by a professional thief. This is about protecting what is mine."

Somehow Alfred was able to understand Bruce's line of reasoning, still... "It's not just about this becoming personal. If you really want you could merely left everything in the hands of the police. But this gloomy creature inside of you is missing the thrill. I know how it is. I myself had felt like this when I left the SAS(1) many years ago. However, you should be able to recognize that those days are behind you. You don't owe these people anymore. You've given them everything."

These were the same words the old butler had uttered during Wayne's feverish dreams in the pit. _Not everything, not yet_, Bruce replied only in thought as he remained completely unmoved by the servant's dramatics. "Thanks for caring but I can back it up."

"Fine then, sir. Just know there are things we cannot control. We can strive to our fullest potential, give the best of ourselves, but still sometimes it's not enough." The servant started to leave but stopped abruptly as if he had suddenly remembered something important. "Oh by the way, Miss Tate has called you. She said you're expected ten in the morning of tomorrow for the appointment with the old mill's owner. It seems the meeting has been anticipated in a day."

Bruce blinked, taken aback by Alfred's news. A combination of excitement and disappointment crossed his features almost simultaneously. "Only that? Didn't she want to talk to me?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. But she asked about Master Damian and wished a good night to all of us."

"Thanks, Alfred."

Alfred flashed a genuine – yet tight – smile as he bowed and left while Bruce turned his attention to the plate of food in front of him. He already had an irrevocable appointment tomorrow morning at S.T.A.R. Labs but he did not want to uncheck any of the commitments. It was crazy but he would rather stand a bunch of scientists up than not to spend a few moments in Tate's company. However, his visit to the famous laboratories' complex was of utmost importance since it was related to his own health issues.

Well, tomorrow would be a – one more – mad and hurry day in his life. Bruce could only hope that at least, at the end of the day, all effort was worth.

* * *

(1) SAS - Special Air Service is a regiment of the British Army.


	20. 19 The Past Hasn't Faded Away

_Dear readers,_  
_My sincere apologies for the delay in updating this fic. I hope this extensive chapter (three times longer than I've usually been posting) redeem myself before you all._  
_While I was writing this chapter, I was debating with myself whether the portrait of Talia was too much out of character or not. I've concluded the reaction she shows in this post makes sense based on her background presented in "Full Circle". Despite her hard exterior and her controversial actions, she's very human and extremely committed to making the world a better place._  
_In case you guys are wondering where are the adventure/action aspects of the plot I should warn you this story focus more on the relationship between Miranda/Talia and Bruce. Yet, it will have some badassery moments involving Batman & Co. and their adversaries._  
_Finally, check my updated profile to see more options of Damian's face claim. Oh, and don't forget to post a review after reading. XOXOXO_

_PS. Merison, I'm taking your request into consideration but "my guess" is no woman pose as a real threat to Miranda and deep down she knows that. Later you'll find out why. Until then, keep following and reviewing._

* * *

**XIX - The Past Hasn't Faded Away**

_**Wayne Enterprises Tower, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

"Sorry for standing up," Bruce began as he strode hurriedly toward Miranda, who was pacing the private parking lot impatiently, making an unmistakable noise of spiked heels clicking against the hard concrete floor. Her arms were crossed and folded against her chest and he noticed a flash of exasperation in her sparkling blue eyes as she turned to face him.

Bruce was wearing an immaculate grey suit, with his dark brown hair swept back from his brow, looking broodingly attractive. However, Miranda did not seem to dig that. "We're late. I mean, you are," she sneered, so calm and composed, yet her body language was speaking volumes. She was looking very businesslike wearing a wrap front belted tailored dress matching with a cropped collarless jacket. An expensive designer handbag hung on her right forearm completed the outfit. "I've been trying to get hold of you for more than forty minutes and you don't even bother to turn on your phone."

Bruce blinked, taken aback by the intensity of her words. But still he replied casually, "I was busy." It was true. He had spent almost three hours at S.T.A.R. Labs, talking with doctors, scientists and bioengineers about new ways to treat his back and knees injuries.

"Why am I not surprised?" she murmured, rolling his eyes.

_Stubborn, arrogant, controlling,_ Bruce mused humorously. "So let's not waste a minute more, shall we?" he said calmly, not allowing her usual disapproval to ruin his day. "Wanna take my car or yours?"

"Actually, I got a chauffeur of the company to drive us around. He's waiting right there," she stated as she led the path to a black luxury sedan parked a few feet from where she was standing.

"Sorry for the long wait," she told the driver.

"No problem, ma'am," the man in his early thirties answered with a shy smile on his face. "That's my job."

"No, Mr. Reynolds. Wait for people with bad timing is not part of your duties. I'll surely reward you for the inconvenience," Miranda assured him as the younger man looked Wayne up and down curiously. "By the way, this is Mr. Wayne if you don't know yet," she announced and then glanced dismissively over her shoulder at Bruce's direction.

Both men exchanged social pleasantries and the driver led them to the interior of the vehicle before he started the engine. Almost instantly Miranda's phone rang and she snorted as she looked at the display.

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Dzevenka... Have you received my message? Good. Mr. Wayne and I are on our way. I know... We had another business meeting that took longer than expected... I know... I'm really sorry. I know you won't regret doing business with us... Yeah. See you." She hung up the phone before letting out an annoyed sigh.

"What? We're not that late! She's already picking on us?" Bruce asked with a hint of humour in his voice. He knew the woman next to him was pissed and he made no attempt to alleviate the situation.

"And rightfully so," Miranda said flatly. "She thinks we're not taking the deal seriously."

"Don't worry. When she sees the colour of money she will realize we're dead serious," he said with a wicked grin.

"Hopefully you're right."

In the following minutes they barely spoke to each other. Bruce even tried to engage some light conversation between them but she seemed to be too much absorbed in her own chores. Cursing his lack of creativity and casual conversation right then and there, he watched as she worked on her smartphone or made calls the whole time, never directing attention to him specifically. Unfortunately, the inevitable rift between them seemed to set up once again.

Miranda tried to remain focused on her work most of the time. It was a hard task since sitting beside Bruce in the close confines of the car with the slight scent of his cologne tantalising her nostrils made her intensely aware of him. For a brief moment she asked herself for how long she would be able to keep her sanity and resisty. But if she gave in, then what next? It was better for everyone's sake not have any romantic illusions.

Still... She was not able to help noting every tiny movement he made – his arm touching hers when he raised the phone to his ear to call Fox, the deep velvet tone of his voice when he made a comment about the neighborhood, the accidental brush of his thigh against hers with the movement of the vehicle.

Thank God they did not run into much traffic on the way up, and soon they arrived at their destiny.

* * *

_**Old Paper Mill, Downtown Gotham, Scituate, Gotham City**_

By the time the car pulled up and their driver got out to open the door for them, Miranda was hot, tense, her nerves wound tight as a drum. And her nervous tension did not improve when Bruce took her arm and led her into the old paper mill.

Mrs. Dzevenka – a chubby woman in her mid-fifties – was waiting for them. She stared at them with an unfriendly expression that was clearly conveying her annoyance for being let down.

After a speedy greeting, the woman urged them to a tour around the mill. Bruce watched in silence as Miranda conducted the conversation in a friendly yet professional way, only intervening when he judged to be necessary or was questioned. She quickly got a reluctant Mrs. Dzevenka – who seemed to hold a natural contrariety around the sale, since that property had belonged to her family for generations – to accept an offer below the asking price and to sign the papers without further ado.

In the last few days he was having the opportunity to witness how Miranda actually worked on a daily basis. She led negotiations in a rather unique way. There was grit and strength and purpose in her – qualities that made him admire and respect her even more – mingled with a certain amount of gracefulness. Truth be told, there was not a side of her he did not like, and more and more often, anything she had done out of desperation in the past was fading away from his mind just like a memory of a bad dream.

"What about lunch right now?" she proposed after checking her watch. "Guess we all have reason enough to celebrate."

Mrs. Dzevenka glanced suspicious at them but before she could answer, Bruce took care of throwing his charm around the older lady, "It would be an honor to have you as our companion, ma'am." Deep down he knew Miranda's invitation was a subtle and polite attempt to make amends with the other woman due the fact they had showed up late at the meeting. "I'm gonna call the restaurant, make a reservation for us for fifteen minutes from now. Hotel Ritz-Carlton's restaurant serves an incredible '_virtinai'._"

"Sounds good to me, but The Ritz-Carlton is a bit far from here. We'll never make it in time. Unless, of course Mrs. Dzevenka insists. What do you think ma'am? Would you like to go somewhere in particular?" Miranda pressed on while the older woman shook her head looking a little embarrassed.

"Oh! Thank you very much for the invitation but I don't wanna cause any trouble. The Ritz is too posh for me..." A shy grin curved her lips. "I know a small Slavic restaurant just a few blocks away. If you two don't mind eating at a relatively modest but yummy place, of course."

"Fine by me," Bruce answered, directing questionable eyes to Miranda.

"Me too," she agreed.

"Great. Let's go then," Mrs. Dzevenka prompted as the couple silently exchanged a look of amusement.

* * *

_**Cvet Vzhodu restaurant, Scituate, Gotham City**_

The small restaurant served typical food with a hint of grandma's tender loving care. It was not the usual kind of environment that Bruce or Miranda attended, however, the duo seemed to be quite comfortable where they were.

By the time they arrived at the restaurant, Bruce dismissed the chauffeur for the next two hours – what Miranda considered an exaggeration; one hour would be time enough for them to eat – and secretly handed a hundred dollar bill to him.

At the end of the lunch, Mrs. Dzevenka said goodbye in a much better mood, gave them the nicest smile and wished them luck with the old building renovation. She took a cab and left them alone.

"Would you like to take a walk?" Bruce asked, breaking the growing silence before consulting his watch. "We still have more than an hour to Mr. Reynolds to pick us up." Excitement was seeping through every pore in his body but he was somehow able to hold himself back from doing something stupid.

God, anybody would think he was a lovesick teenager out on his first proper date. He told himself probably neither their son acted like this way anymore. But it was not just about lust. It was so much more.

"Not a wise choice," she replied with a smirk and then glanced down casually at her shoes, "not with those heels."

He tried to suppress a smile but felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

"What about that little square over there," she offered gently. "It sure would be nice to sit in one of those benches under the shade of a tree. We could have some ice cream..." A dreamy look came into her eyes. "Or we could call Mr. Reynolds to come here right now," she teased.

"Ice cream in the park sounds good to me," Bruce said before she could make up her mind against it. "Though I've got a much better idea of how we can spend so much free time." A devilish grin formed on his lips.

Miranda raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "In your dreams." The mounting sizzle of sexual tension, not freely spoken but implied, disturbed her for a while but she did not let slip any hint of mutual interest.

He shrugged, "Well, you can't blame a guy for trying, huh?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head with a hint of amusement. "Please, Bruce. Don't be a fool embarrassing yourself, okay?"

Bruce only chuckled in response as they walked towards the square. The place was quiet but not completely empty, still it was possible to keep walking without either of them would be pestered by onlookers or reporters. They stopped by an ice cream cart and Bruce bought two cones before they sat under a shade tree.

He stretched out his long legs and said, "You know, your ability of getting what you want never seize to amaze me."

Miranda sat down at the other end of the bench in an attempt to put the farthest distance possible between her and Bruce's very unsettling nearness. "I do what I have to do," she replied simply, hating the stiffness she heard in her own voice. "And thanks to you, it was not easy today."

A sheepish look crossed his face. "I've told you I was busy," he defended himself.

She took a lick off the ice cream slowly and then cocked her head. "I hope it has something to do with the robbery. Gordon phoned last night asking me if I knew the thief's location. I told him you're taking care of everything. How's that going?"

The way she ate her ice cream seductively distract him from the conversation for a split of a second and without much thought he decided to share some information with her – something he already had decided not to do. "I pulled up some information on that woman," he said and then handed her his phone. "She's not some random cat burglar."

Miranda got his phone and studied all the information that laid before her eyes. "It's quite a résume she has compiled here."

"She's targeting a very specific type of valuable information. We figure out why, and that'll give us the how to catch not only her but who hired her too."

"And how we – I mean you – will figure out what she wants?"

"I have an idea."

Miranda lifted a brow. "Really?" Her voice was carefully neutral.

"I'm gonna hold a party to launch the Gotham's Initiative Project. Wayne Enterprises will host it. Thus we're gonna lure her out into the event."

"This thief clearly has a trained instinct for this sort of thing and she's not going to fall for any silly thing. Aren't you jumping into conclusions by assuming she's gonna take the bait and that what she wants is something from the company?"

"No. She's an international fugitive skilled in corporate espionage, who is so desperate that she came back to a place where she could easily get caught. I'm just providing the easiest chance she has to get nothing short the ultimate secret."

"Mm-hmm," she replied, clearly not so convinced by his plan. Taking another lick of her ice cream to fill the vacant pause in conversation, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, waiting for him to speak again.

"What?" he asked breezily, holding up one hand in surrender. It was about then he realized her mouth was having the capacity to entice him to the core. Recovering his composure, Bruce took a defensive stance. "I'm not risking everything by assaulting her. I want to do it with minimum fuss as possible."

"No," Miranda said with a slow shake of her head, a smirk formed in her lips as she pinned her gaze on him once again. "What you really want is to play cat and mouse with her. Unfortunately though, that plan of yours has a serious flaw..."

He stared at her with challenging eyes. "That would be?"

"You cannot launch a project of such magnitude and complexity without the board's approval and blessing. And it will take several days – perhaps weeks – to convince every member of the board it's worth, especially after the fusion reactor's fiasco. Besides, Wayne Enterprises is still walking the high wire without a net."

The very idea of his plan being somewhat compromised due some narrow-minded executives was quite disappointing. She had a point, however, Bruce had a ace in the hole.

"That's why I'm counting on you to ensure the board of directors and the major shareholders vote their proxies in favor of the project," he confessed with a half smile on his face.

She looked perilously gorgeous as she arched her brows and pouted her ripe lips. "If I understand correctly, you want to use me as a tool to get what you want. You must be truly desperate to come to me for help even after all that happened."

Bruce gave her a shifty grin. "Obviously you do should know if you even try to rip me off, I'm gonna have to punish you this time." A hint of amusement punctuated each word he said.

"No need to. You already did for a lifetime." A smirk spread over Miranda's lips but her eyes conveyed some kind of coldness that went against anything Bruce had predicted. Her words poured cold water on every bit of hope he had sown so far, and he quickly regretted having said what he had.

It was a poor choice of words indeed.

Bruce flinched almost imperceptibly and glanced at her with sorry eyes. "Miranda..." he began but she cut him off instantly.

"I highly doubt I'm gonna be able to persuade the board to get behind me or you again. But if your plan works, it's gonna take a while to settle everything on. Until then, Kyle is free to have it on her own way."

"Believe me, it's going to work out. I bet she's waiting patiently to make her next move, and whoever had hired her won't allow her to ruin everything."

He spoke with such confidence that Miranda truly believed Bruce knew exactly what he was doing.

"Has it ever occurred to you it might look like a conflict of interest? I mean, they know now I'm the mother of your only child. Supporting you all the way sounds like I may be biased due to the connection that exists between us. It won't be very ethical," she reminded him, drawing attention to an important fact.

This time Bruce sighed testily, in a manner that made him look even more like Damian. Miranda suppressed a giggle because she was aware of the seriousness of the situation.

"Just for once do what you do best without considering what you should or could be doing in order to change the tide, okay?" If they put their efforts together, he was confident that they could come up with some sort of resolution for this trouble.

Staring at him defiantly, Miranda bowed her head reverently and motioned her right hand dramatically in the air as she answered in derision, "Yes, my lord."

He blinked, then threw back his head and roared with laughter. It was hard to be angry before such charming petulance. As for Miranda, her lips immediately formed a dazzling smile.

When their eyes met again, unrestrained emotion sparkled in Bruce's gaze. Once again he found himself wondering about the future and if it could be possible for them to have one together. Could he figure out a way to make her to have faith in them again? Hope was a small tender bud, slowly unfurling inside him because finally this felt so close and still far away to real.

But one thing he knew for sure. She was the woman for him. The only woman.

"What?" she asked, when he did not say anything and she started to get uncomfortable under his long stare. There was a brooding intensity to his gaze that made Miranda curl her toes inside her expensive shoes. She tried to control her own emotions desperately. If a sad little flicker of hope had dared to flare in her heart at the sight of him, well, she needed to stomp it out.

"Nothing," he replied, shaking his head. A soft smile remained on his face.

Miranda finished her ice cream cone and quickly changed the subject. "You know, now you can do some real good in this city beyond just beat crooks dressed like a giant bat." She was secretly glad and relieved he was putting his money and resources into something that would not cost his life or sanity.

Glancing away at a group of kids who were playing ball nearby, Bruce just said, "Yeah." His voice sounded totally distracted as if his thoughts were very distant of reality.

"Which reminds me I have something important I need to discuss with you."

He turned his attention to her again, wondering what could be so important that make her sound eager to share her thoughts. "I'm listening."

"I have an idea about a free clinic Wayne Foundation could start. There used to be one some years ago, but William Earle shut it down, claiming it was to cut unnecessary expenses." She decided to mention it to Bruce and see what he thought about the idea. It may mean extra work for her but working in favor of a greater good was always a pleasure and never a chore.

A smile curved his mouth. "It seems that you've been keeping your mind into high gear."

"So what do you think?"

"I think it's a great idea. It's about time Wayne Foundation do something about it. Do you have someone in mind to lead the place?"

She smiled back innocently as she watched him finishing his ice cream. "Actually, I took the liberty of proposing the idea for an old acquaintance. You should know her as well. Dr. Leslie Thompkins. She and your father had worked together at the Gotham Mercy. She's been working for a humanitarian organization in Africa for more than ten years now."

"Leslie? Of course I know her. She often used to come to the manor when I was a child. We've lost touch with each other over the years. How do you know her?"

"From the short time I lived here before giving birth to Damian," she muttered under her breath. She did not want to dredge up the past and, certainly, any pitying glances.

Bruce froze at her statement and racked his brains to remember what she had told him about the time she had lived in Gotham City – more than sixteen years ago – but did not come up with much.

During their time in Switzerland, she had hardly told him anything but the necessary, he realised dully. She had managed to dodge most of his questions as he had managed to drag out some answers from her only with great exertion.

"I-I didn't know..." It was all he could say at this point. Again it was like they were both kind of walking on eggshells slightly around each other.

"So, do you agree with all of this? Can I set our plan in action?" Miranda quickly questioned before that clumsy topic could get any longer.

"Sure. You have my total support."

"Thank you very much. It means a lot to me. I'm gonna summon Leslie as soon as possible," she replied candidly, her enthusiasm putting the storm clouds out of the way. Glancing at her watch again, she announced, "And now I really, really must go. I have a meeting in less than half an hour at the Home for Children."

"Can I go with you? I mean... I've never been there and I'd like to see how things are going." He hoped not sounding too clingy.

"Bruce," she began softly, "you don't need my permission to go to wherever you want. The Home for Children is your idea and it has your parents' names on its front door. It will be nice have you by my side, and I'm sure Father Reilly and the staff will be ecstatic with your distinguished presence."

A huge smile cracked Bruce's face as he pull out his phone to call the driver right away.

* * *

_**The Thomas And Martha Wayne Home for children, Downtown, Gotham City**_

As Miranda had foreseen, Father Reilly and the staff of the place were amazed that such honorable visitor was in attendance.

A kind brunette with a heart-warming smile introduced herself as the headmistress – Nanette Gomez. Bruce deduced the petite woman was around her late thirties, early forties. Like many women in leadership roles, Mrs. Gomez was discreet but tastefully dressed in a blue-navy suit. Her shiny black hair was combed to one side and framed strong features and caramel eyes.

"Mr. Wayne, we wanted to thank you personally for your generous donation," the woman said. "Without it none of this would be possible," she added, gesturing towards the large space.

"It's the least I could do for the people of Gotham," he replied, wearing a very solemn expression on his face. "For generations, this city gave my family and my ancestors so much. I'm just returning the favor."

"And, of course, Miss Tate," Father Reilly began, turning to Miranda, "we would like to thank you for all the large checks that helped us to keep the former St. Swithin's Home for Boys."

Almost instantly, Nanette flashed Miranda a contemptuous glance, as if the bona fide charity work the other woman had done was the evidence of guilty conscience or an attempt to hold a dark dirty secret.

Miranda looked surprised and her voice was tinged with a bit of annoyance. "Really, there's no need..." Although, from time to time she was lauded for her fundraising, she liked to keep his philanthropy private, and the way Mrs. Gomez looked at her made her felt uneasy. Gomez was aware of Damian's history, for sure. The press had taken charge of spreading all sorts of rumors about it and most of these were far from the truth. She could imagine all kinds of question popping through the woman's head.

In that split second Bruce comprehended the weird atmosphere that were hanging over them and decided to help Miranda out. "I would like to see what lots of donated money can do in favour of the orphans," he prompted lazily. The playfulness did not sit well and sounded more like a mockery.

The priest arched his eyebrows in obvious aggrievement as Nanette kept a forced smile plastered on her face. Miranda cleared her throat, "I'm sure Mrs. Gomez won't mind to show us around."

"Sure. This way, please," the other woman replied, leading their way.

While Bruce was introduced to the facilities by Mrs. Gomez, Miranda struck up a conversation with Father Reilly about the Recreational Center Wayne Foundation wanted to start. That seemed to cheer up the old man spirits.

At that time most of the children were still at school but some – the youngest – were playing in some kind of toy room off the narrow hallway. As soon as the adults walked into the large space the toddlers and small kids turned their attention to the quartet. Some of them started to giggle, others quickly returned to play and also there were those who stared at them with suspicion.

Miranda found it all very funny as she interacted with the children and their nannies while, for some reason, Bruce's eyes swept around the room before finally settling on a little girl of about four or five. She was sitting alone in the corner of the room, staring unblinkingly at the window, a battered china doll clutched tightly to her.

Motioning his head towards the girl, he asked in a deliberately low voice, "Who's that child? Why is she estranged from other kids?" The way he addressed Mrs. Gomez caught Miranda's full attention. She walked over them, waiting for the woman's answer.

"Oh, that little pearl over there is Helena. She doesn't socialize very much. In fact, she hasn't said a word since the day she got here a few months ago. She's not settled at all well. We've done our best, but she's just not responding."

"Is she deaf-mute?" he asked concerned. "Or has some kind of communication trouble?"

"Apparently not," the headmistress began. "We've run some tests with the help of our psychologists and she was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder. Poor little girl," she finished.

"Post traumatic stress disorder?" Miranda intervened, feeling her guts clench.

"Yeah. She's the only child of a wealthy couple who died during Gotham's siege. The father was an important financier and her mother was an old money socialite and an artist in her spare time," she paused for a moment, staring at the child, her tone softened even more. "Police said the mother was killed in front of the daughter and the father was taken prisoner by anarchists, being executed subsequently. Neighbors found the child clinging to the corpse of the mother some days later."

The weight of Gomez's words washed over them as a sensation of _déjà vu_. They both knew what it was like to have the people they loved most taking away from them violently. Both knew what it was like to grow alone with the constant reminder of the pain poisoning their veins.

_God_, Bruce mused as he felt his hands clench at his side, though his own features remained composed. He picked a course back with greater care as he turned to Miranda and realized she went still, a blank mask taking all the life from her face.

She blinked, taken aback by the suddenly information and felt the cold start to drain out of her veins. "Can I talk to her?" she asked out of sudden. "Well, I mean… If it's not a problem for her or you."

"Absolutely. Come with me," Mrs Gomez answered, her implicit hostility was left backwards.

They walked in past the children and went up to the confines of the room. Crouching down, Nanette said in a gentler voice, "Hello, munchkin. How's everything?" She took a wayward strand of the small child's hair placing it delicately behind her ear.

The child did not respond to the woman, either to her voice or her touch. She just went on sitting there, immobile, unresponsive, expressionless. Tension in every line of her little body as she clutched the doll against her chest with both hands like if it was the most precious thing in the entire world.

Bruce felt his heart clench – with fury and with pain. That lonely, orphan and traumatized little girl was a result of the actions of a bunch of heartless sociopaths. People without decency that he had been unable to stop from committing such vile acts.

With a sigh Nanette got to her feet. "You see?" she said to them.

Miranda did not hear her. Did not see her. Saw nothing but the statuesque child sitting in a plastic stool sized for kids. She could not move. Her lungs were frozen, her body rigid. But emotion was knifing through her, blow after blow. Killing her. How long she stood there she did not know. Time had stopped as sickest memories rushed through her mind.

Returning to the present, she took a deep breath and slowly knelt down next the little girl. At her approach the child tensed even more, her head turning fearfully. A pair of wide emerald eyes stared up at all of them anxiously, her mouth trembling.

"Hello, Helena," Miranda said slowly, a warm smile on her face. "You have a beautiful name and a beautiful doll as well. What's her name?"

The girl did not say anything and Bruce began antisily watching the five year old eye Miranda curiously.

She tried again, "Does she have a name? Mine is Miranda and that handsome guy over there," she spoke in a whisper – as if she was sharing an important secret – while tilting her head towards Bruce, "is Bruce."

When little Helena turned her inquisitive eyes to him, Bruce forced a smile to his face. He must not frighten the child.

"You know, I never had a doll in my entire life. When I was very small, just about your age, I used to have a teddy bear. Its name was _Colas_," her accent emphasizing adorably the last word. "Unfortunately I lost it in a fire," she added with a hint of sadness.

This time Bruce was certain that Miranda's statement had touched something inside the girl. Something that caused her to lose the stiff grip she was holding around the doll, then to hand it slowly to the woman beside her, as if an offering. It looked like the little one was fighting a terrible inner war, yet she managed to lift the doll's skirt to show a tag sewed to her stuffed belly.

Mrs. Gomez stood dumbfounded as this transaction occurred because she knew how much the doll meant to Helena. Miranda took the doll in her hands carefully and read the name on the tag. _Bessie. _"Bessie? Her name is Bessie?"

Helena nodded slightly in response and Miranda handed back the doll to her. "Here. Take back your pretty Bessie. Wouldn't you like to take her to have some tea?" she asked, pointing to a small table set for a tea party. "Bet she would love to."

This time the little girl frowned and shook her head in denial vigorously. "Okay, maybe another time..." Miranda replied with such tenderness and calm capability that her natural skill with children did not go unnoticed by Bruce's eyes.

Miranda wet her lips and got to her feet, which brought her back to the real world. She glanced again to the girl. "Bye, Helena. Next time I really hope we could drink tea with Bessie."

Helena stared at her with her wide green eyes – like a frightened little rabbit – and did not express any reaction. For a few seconds Miranda panicked and then panic turned uncontrollably to anger. She felt a lump begin to form in her throat and prompted, "Playtime is over. I've gotta go now. Thank you for your time and patience, Mrs. Gomez." She turned to the priest and gave a curt nod, "Father Reilly."

She sounded cool and in perfect control, as usual. However, the way she turned on her heel and rushed through the door, before Bruce or anyone could say another word, denounced that something wrong was happening.

Bruce found an excuse fastly and said goodbye to everyone before taking off after her at a run. Cursing through his clenched teeth, he felt an odd sense of disorientating empowerment until he walked out the orphanage. He glanced around and noticed that she was striding away toward the indoor car park. He followed her but, out of sudden, Miranda stopped and leaned heavily on a pillar, her shoulders were heaving. He thought she was weeping but as he approached her he realised that she was being violently sick.

"It's okay…" he muttered for some stupid reason because nothing could be less okay, and he placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Lay off me!" she barked as she jerked away from him.

"I'm sorry, Miranda. I'm just trying to help," he retorted softly, with compassion.

"Well, don't," she raked back in sheer reaction. She was quivering all over and started to sob uncontrollably.

Bruce pondered for a few seconds before daring to take hold of her shoulders again. All that had been so hard for her as for him, perhaps even more for her. He recalled the story that had been told to him in the pit about the mercenary and his family. It did not have to be a genius to see the parallels between the little girl's story and Miranda's own story.

When Miranda felt a pair of long fingered hands touching her shoulders tenderly, she did not pull away, but just sagged like a quivering sack into his grasp as the final dregs of her stomach contents landed only inches away from her high-heeled platinum shoes. By the time it was over she could barely stand upright.

Grim lips pressed together, Bruce continued to hold her while she found a tissue in her bag and used it to wipe her mouth. Beneath the grip of his fingers he could feel her trembling. He gently rubbed her back with one hand as the other hand kept her hair pulled back. Her head was bowed, exposing the long, slender whiteness of her nape. He sighed and looked away from her as a hot sensation flicked at his insides.

"Okay now?" he dared to question once her trembling started to ease a little.

She managed a single nod. "Yes. Thank you,'" she whispered and jerked away from him again, extremely embarrassed for him being here and witnessing her complete downfall like this.

"This is not a moment for polite manners, Miranda," he responded impatiently, but quickly regained his composure and then he put his hand on her arm. "I'm sorry. I know how you feel..."

"You damned well don't know how I feel," she said harshly, throwing off his touch. She was still too shaken up, too sick and dizzy with horror and shock. "It's... With everything I've been through, people that I've lost... I know how hard it can be. That little girl..." she mumbled as she straightened up again and tears started to flow down her cheeks.

Knowing that she had been somehow responsible for all the chaos that had descended upon the city was one thing, but to actually see the crude result of the League of Shadows' actions was absolutely something else. Just thinking about it had fresh nausea trying to take a grip on her stomach. Working desperately to control it, Miranda fumbled in her bag for the bottle of water she always carried with her.

Keeping her eyes lowered and away from Bruce, she twisted the cap off the bottle of water and put it to her unsteady lips so she could take a couple of careful sips. Her heart was pounding in her head and her throat felt so thick it struggled to swallow. And Bruce continued to stand there like some looming dark shadow, killing her ability to think and making her feel guiltier than she could assume.

She swallowed hard before turning back to face him, her own face awash with tears. "I'll b-be all r-right in a minute," she managed to say between sobs.

Bruce could not seem to find his voice and only nodded in response. He chose to gave her some space since she seemed to be very upset before reaching out to catch her hand in order to help her steady.

When she hesitated to take the hand he offered, Bruce smiled and said, "What's the matter, princess. Afraid I'll bite?"

Miranda's pretty face filled with remorse and she smiled back tentatively, allowing him to take her hand between his.

Letting go of her hand, Bruce finally pulled her into his arms the way he had wanted to from the start. His hand snaking up her spine, encasing her in his embrace as he held her tighter, letting their foreheads rest together for a moment, a breath – a heartbeat. They stood like that for some time, until Miranda started to cry harder in his arms, shaking her head against his chest.

His gut clenched. It devastated him to see her in such fragile state. "Ssh, it's all right. Don't you cry. I'm here." And after a brief pause he advised gently, "Take some more sips at the water and stop tormenting yourself."

She pulled herself away from his embrace just far enough to drink some water. Her hands were visibly shaking. "I was only in that to get my revenge... To make you feel the same way I did. Not to be an accessory to orphaning little kids." She fit the words in between sips. "People didn't just lose their homes or possessions. Their lives are ruined. And I'm the only one to blame."

Bruce lifted her chin with the tip of his finger and looked into her eyes. "No, you're not. We all have our share of blame." There was a strong determination in his voice, yet his eyes was conveying a heart wrenching tenderness.

Leaning into him, she spoke softly, "It's all my fault."

Bruce pulled her closer. "I understand how you feel, believe me," he said, whispering the words into her hair as he rocked her. "What is done is done. Now it's time to let go of this guilt. Time to think about the future, not the past. Good things do happen. You just need to allow them to happen," he added wisely.

Miranda wanted to believe him so desperately. Did he really care about her? Was it possible he hated her less than she hated herself right now? "Can you get me out of here?" she begged.

Relief flowed through him. "My pleasure." His next thought was to get Miranda back to the car and coax her into going to Wayne Manor to recover. With one arm around her waist, he adjusted his grip on her, leaning down to slide his other arm under her knees and lift her completely into his arms.

"Bruce, stop it," she protested, trying to wriggle away from him and walk under her own power. "What did you think you were you doing?"

"Carrying you out of here," he growled with a hint of wryness.

She caught her breath as the swift motion made her head whirl dizzily, and she clutched at his shoulders, hiding her face in the hook of his neck as he walked toward the car.

Reynolds suddenly appeared from the lurking shadows, eyeing them curiously. Bruce met his eyes and sent him a silent message. The driver quickly opened the sedan's door, allowing Bruce to carefully settle her in the backseat before he got himself into the car.

He slid open the glass partition that separated the passengers from the chauffeur. "Mr. Reynolds, Wayne Manor, please."

Coming out of her torpor state, Miranda demanded, "No! I need to go back to Wayne Tower."

Reynolds' uncertain gaze darted between the couple.

"Miranda, listen to me," Bruce began, "I have a feeling you need a break from the office. You're in no condition to show up there right now."

"My car is there," she said, making a motion with her hand as if to halt him.

"Forget about it," he snapped back. "I'll ask someone to bring it back to you later."

"Fine. But I'd rather go to my home," she argued. All she wanted was to get back into her comfort zone.

Defeated, Bruce sighed impatiently. "Okay. Take us to Amparo Lane on Irving Grove, Mr. Reynolds."

The chauffeur nodded before start the engine.

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

What followed was a quiet drive to Miranda's home. Though her eyes were puffy and red from the long crying session, she was – once again – cool, pale and distant, so complete unto herself that Bruce was filled with apprehension of touching her.

People said Miranda Tate's heart was carved from the hardest diamond and the coldest ice. The charade had fooled everyone but him, who had long learned there was a well-camouflaged vulnerability about her. A woman in her place had two faces, one for the world and one which she wore in private. He knew that deep down the defiant confidence she flaunted like some badge of honor was nothing more than a smokescreen to hide her uncertainties and desires. There was humanity behind her mask, something that could be easily lost when someone was insanely driven just like sickos as Bane or Rã's al Ghul had been.

When they came to a stop at the traffic lights, she decided to break the uncomfortable silence. "You may be thinking that I got what I deserved." She did not even bother to glance at him as she said the words. Placing her hand on her right temple, she massaged the pain that had started to throb there.

The man next to her had turned her life upside down, hurt her deeply, and – for years – the only thing that had kept her going was the need to hurt him in return. Years of pain and hatred had led her into a dark world of cold-hearted, calculated pursuit of vengeance. But in doing so she had sacrificed her very soul. As an old saying said, before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.

He saw the wariness in her eyes. The frigid coolness of them. It had not been what he expected. He had hoped for a little more warmth after everything they had just experienced. "Stop trying to out-guess what I might be thinking," he responded coolly as a mix of anger and desire was gnawing him from the inside.

He was tired of Miranda's unique way of antagonising him with her polite, withdrawn manner or her swift, cool glances that dismissed him as if he were nothing worthy of her regard. He did not want this. He wanted to pull her closer and lay her down so badly that he was going crazy. So, out of sudden, he grabbed her arm violently, hoping she would show some reaction even faintly.

Miranda startled, looking taken aback. She tried to pull away from his grip vainly. "Don't, Bruce," she protested, her face stricken, "People who do what I did don't get a second chance." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I feel myself dirty. I feel the blood that runs through my veins is cursed. Guess I'm doomed because I'm indeed the Daughter of the Demon."

Bruce frowned. His chiseled chin jutted. He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them tenderly. "You're more than just your father's daughter. You have the softest heart of anyone I've ever known," he paused, looking straight into her eyes. "And it's exactly what makes you so strong."

And it was why he loved her. One of the reasons, anyway.

Miranda swallowed hard, tears welling again in those sad blue eyes, which she made no attempt to hide it from him. What was the point anyway? "You should dislike me intensely." Her voice was thick with emotion and her accent more pronounced than usual.

"Come," he offered, pulling her closer and allowing her to rest her head over his broad shoulder. "I want to be here with you. Why is that so hard for you to understand?" His voice had dropped down to a whisper.

Awash with feel-good buoyancy, Miranda sighed and leaned against his long, muscled torso. Part of her wanted to jump at the opportunity, any opportunity, to spend time with him, but the other part of her was cautious, afraid of being hurt. "I don't think it would be a good idea," she finally said, choking the words out of her dry throat.

Bruce shrugged and stroke her hair. "Why don't you let me be the one who decide this, huh?"

Miranda merely did not reply, rather just willing herself to enjoy the moment. The sensual drift of his cologne registered low in her belly. She missed this closeness so much, like a desert missed the rain. For one brief moment she allowed the world around them to disappear and let him be the calm she was seeking. Neither of them said anything for a while, they just listened the sound of their own breathing.

Bruce leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, which were suddenly, shockingly, filled with moisture. It had been a heck of a last half hour or so. The little girl's story had affected him too. He could not ignore the stinging pain as his own memories kept coming back to torment him one more time.

He had not expected to be thrown into a full-scale drama with Miranda. Still, with her wrapped in his arms, he felt there was hope for them.

* * *

_**Miranda Tate's house, Irving Grove, Gotham City**_

By the time they arrived at her house, Miranda promptly pulled herself away from Bruce and hustled herself out of the car before he could stop her.

She did not even glance at him as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, where the tepid afternoon sun rays warmed their faces. After thanking politely the driver for his kindness to bring her up at home, she trudged to the front door with Bruce following her close.

She stopped before turning the key into the lock and turned to face him. "Thank you for everything but I want to be alone right now."

When he moved his lips, threatening to retort, she placed a hand over his chest and raised up on tiptoe to kiss him on his cheek – a lighthearted, happy kiss like he had not felt since a long time.

"Go home, Bruce. You need to rest too," she stated and then got into the house without waiting for his response.

Disappointment, hurt, then confusion temporarily stalled his brain. He pursed his lips and stood silently looking her entering her home.

* * *

When Miranda closed the door behind her she sighed with relief. So much had happened, and it was good to be alone. She was feeling as if she had just stepped out of the middle of a tornado. Her head was aching and her body was drained of any hint of energy.

She was amazed of how easy Bruce had handled that awkward situation and how helpful he had been. Still, she attributed his fondness to his hero complex. Or maybe he was so consumed with desire for her that he would do anything to woo her back.

But was their intense physical attraction a strong enough basis on which to build a strong commitment for real?

For her, it was certainly just not enough. She wanted to hear him chanting love words to her. She wanted his laughter and tenderness and trust. God, how she wanted his trust! But most of all, she wanted his love, with the desperate thirst of someone stranded on a raft in the middle of the ocean.

She sighed deeply and climbed up the stairs, knowing that – if she wanted to make it right – they could only take one day at a time.


	21. 20 A Hero Reborn

_Finally some little action! Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Please, don't forget to post a review. They work as a __incentive__ and a guide in helping me to keep going and improve the story. XOXOXO_

* * *

**XX - A Hero Reborn**

_**Miranda Tate's house, Irving Grove, Gotham City**_

In the early evening hours, Damian came home and quickly went upstairs. The long hallway was dark and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of a lampshade coming from his mother's bedroom, shining faintly through the walls.

Reaching the door of the room – open a few inches or so –, he paused for a few moments, watching the curled figure laying in the large bed. Unsure about what to do or say, he just stayed still until Miranda's drowsy voice broke the silence.

"Hello, stranger."

"Oh, hi. Can I come in?" he asked, swallowing hard.

"Sure," she answered and positioned herself against the pillows as he entered the room.

The kid took a glimpse of her shuddered expression. "You okay?"

_I'm miserable as hell_, Miranda thought. By the time she had arrived at home, all she wanted to do was to pass out, ending what had been a crappy day.

That innocent little girl reminded her of a time when her own world had torn apart. Out of nowhere, emotion had poured through her. The fiercest, most overpowering urge to wrap that small, hunched body to her, to enfold her and protect her – always. The same way she had wished someone had done to her more than three decades ago.

"I had a pounding headache but I'm fine right now."

"I'm glad to see you're looking well." Damian reluctantly gazed at her and nervously took another step ahead. "Dad told me... Well, he asked me to bring your car... So, I've decided to come by and take a look."

"So, you've just stop by to see how I'm doing and then you're going back straight to your father to make your report. Well, tell him I'm tougher than I look," she threw at him, though her voice kept sounding as calm and polite as ever.

"Yes, you are. No doubt about that." He chuckled and added, "Funny thing, dad told me the same thing that gala night. But I know you better than that, mom and he said..."

She finished the sentence for him, "That I turned myself into a crier?"

He nodded sheepishly. "Sort of." Well, Bruce had soothed the story and had told him the facts superficially, rather choosing to omit the ugly details.

Miranda shook her head slightly. "There's no need to worry, really. It's just..." she breathed on an indrawn breath. "I've been struggling so hard to keep my demons at bay and this afternoon I was forced to face them. It was not easy to know how much I screwed people's lives," she confessed.

"We all make mistakes. Best thing you can do now is forgive yourself for making such a dreadful mistake, and move forward," he said, with a wisdom that was beyond his young age.

"Easier said than done."

"After everything we've been through, why do you still doubt me?"

Miranda sighed and palmed the mattress. "Come," she said and shifted slowly, opening some space to allow him to join her in the bed. "Are you still mad on me?"

Damian accepted the invitation and lay down beside her slowly. "I've never been," he responded candidly.

Their eyes, the same misty shade of blue, held steady. A smirk cracked on her face. "Liar."

He only chuckled like a naughty child.

"Are you gonna stay and spend the night here?" Hope gleamed in her eyes.

"Do you want me to?"

She knuckled him affectionately on the arm. "Stupid question. Of course I do," she laughed softly and stroke a stubborn lock of his hair away from his face. "I guess I just miss my son."

"I miss you, too," he conceded.

"And I miss Titus as well. You two have spent much more time in Wayne Manor than here. What's the point buying a huge house if I'm practically living alone?"

He rolled his eyes. "That's not true. I spend at most three nights a week in the Manor. And Tytus stays here every single weekend. If we all could live under the same roof none of this would happen."

Miranda blinked, surprised at the unexpected turnaround which the conversation had taken. "I know you wish to get us all together but it's not possible."

"Why not?" he asked bluntly. "Clearly you and Batdad are still head over heels for each other. You both could it give a try."

_Everything had changed. _Everything except for the dangerous chemistry that sizzled between she and Bruce.

"It's not that easy, sweetheart. Things changed. We changed. I know any disagreement your father and I had it's water under the bridge. However, we can't get back to the point where things fell apart."

"What's holding you back?"

_He doesn't love me anymore. He loves the challenge, the chase... All love he had is dead... Just one fond desire still lingers. A desire that won't last long. _

"Let me explain one thing," she paused, chewing her lip before adding, "Your father never wanted any kind of committed relationship with a woman, except with his long-lost sweetheart Rachel Dawes. It won't be now he's going to contemplate such a possibility."

Aware that her comment had awakened a speculative gleam in his eyes, she began to examine her nails nonchalantly.

"So, it would be fine on your part?" he pressed on, hopeful.

"I'm no longer that silly girl who fell in love with a man and idolised him to the point of getting so damn hurt when he..." she checked her emotional flow abruptly, not allowing this to get any longer. Swept along in an avalanche of emotions, she forgot her promise to herself not to revisit the past.

The truth was Miranda refused to risk her heart a second time. She believed in the sanctity of a strong and faithful relationship and would accept nothing less. Now she had a son in the equation and she was not going to jeopardize everything by giving Bruce a try. She needed to protect herself against the threat of heartbreak – as much for Damian's sake as for her own. Ultimately it was about what was best for their son.

His eyes glinted. "Did you idolise dad?"

Miranda gave him a blank look. "We were all young and stupid once."

"Guess I'm young and stupid right now," he prompted.

"Fox's daughter?"

"Yep," he confirmed with a wide sunny smile. "She's so nice, so intelligent and so beautiful..."

"Hmm," Miranda hummed before continuing, "And she's almost five years older than you, and you get yourself infatuated very easy." She paused when Damian let out a sharp, impatient click of his tongue, "Look, I don't mean to snoop into your affairs... But what do you feel about her?"

"I have a thing for her. I mean, I don't know what exactly it is. What I do know is I like her. A lot. I enjoy her company and her friendship but I don't know where it will take us."

"You have a thing for her?

"Yes. Do you have any objection?"

"Actually, sweetheart, I was thinking, you probably should ask her out."

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm," she replied, shaking her head in agreement.

He winked humorously. "I'll do that just five minutes after you ask dad out."

Miranda's eyes widened in disbelief as she opened and closed her mouth several times before she could find the words again. "Sure, kid. When pigs fly."

The teen let out a belly laugh and only stopped when his mother cut in.

"Are you hungry?"

"Very," he answered, still with a smile stretched from ear to ear.

"What about ordering some pizza?" she suggested.

"Awesome. I'll get the menu." He soon got out of the bed and spun around, heading for the kitchen downstairs.

"Damian, before you go..." she began reluctantly, uncertain about the words she was supposed to use. Miranda looked longingly at the the young man in front of her and then her eyes slid to the floor. The visit to the orphanage that afternoon had had a great effect on her, and she was still haunted by Helena's shattered expression.

After what looked like a long pause, the teenager demanded impatiently, grinning at her, "Spit it back out."

Miranda took a deep breath and stared at him. "You might not believe this, but all I ever wanted for you was happiness. Years ago, when I held you in my arms for those few brief moments, when I saw your face, I knew I'd do whatever it takes to protect my baby, even if it meant making some tough choices. Because only the outcome – your well-being – matters."

He nodded in confirmation, a slight smile on his face, "I got you." And then he got out from her room but quickly returned in a snap. "Listen, are you gonna be busy on nights next week?"

"For you, I'll always have time," she replied softly.

"Cool. Haly's Circus is coming to town and I've thought you might be interested to know where I lived the first years of my life. I mean, maybe, you'd like to watch the show and know some old pals of mine." There was a hint of anxiety in his voice.

"It would be great."

"Okay," he said, trudging toward the door but once again he turned around as if he was forgetting something. "You're a pretty great mom."

With that said, he left without waiting for a reply.

For the second time in a short space of time, Miranda did not know what to say, caught completely off guard by her son's statement. She blinked in a foolish attempt to ward off the tears that were insisting on emerge in the corners of her eyes.

_You're a pretty great mom. _

She replayed the words over and over through her mind. They sounded in her ears as some kind of reward for the disastrous day that she had had. A balsam for a mind tortured with guilt. A guilt so great that prevented her from considering herself as worth of any kind of Bruce Wayne's affection. The same man whose rejection had driven her into an obscure journey.

For almost sixteen years, Miranda had wandered through a no man's land between love and hate. Between passion and obsession. A place where it was easy to lose all sense of reality – and in doing so, lose herself.

A place where real satisfaction could only be found in mortal vindication. The end of a path with no turning back on which her own father had engulfed by and she had almost reached it by a close call – if it had not been for Damian's reappearance in her life.

Damian's love and acceptance had saved her from the dark corners of her soul. And for this she would be eternally grateful.

* * *

_**Cave beneath Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

In the vast, dim lair underneath Wayne Manor, Bruce was sitting in front of the computer console, staring at the bank of monitors.

While he studied some files, police reports and news clippings related to the newest escalation of violence in Gotham City, he felt that strange urge to do something – like an itch that need to be scratched. He could not tell if this feeling was just the creature inside him that had awakened in response to the call to adventure again or it was the direct result of the emotional rollercoaster he had been recently. The events of the last afternoon was not easy for either him or Miranda.

Her sudden, uncontrollable display of emotion had shocked him. He could just not bear to see her cry. Bruce had not noticed how much pressure she had been under until that moment.

Being deep and keeping a lot of things to herself was so her! He had never suspected anything, since her apparent composed and calm look always reflected a woman in control, devoted to her career and a challenge to men who wanted to get too close of her.

It had been rumored in the financial circle that she had made it pretty plain that she did not need a man for anything beyond casual companionship. Thereby, over the years, the moniker of Ice Princess had increasingly gaining strength in the press and in the higher echelons of society.

Little did they know that behind the mask there was woman who was struggling to protecting herself so badly she practically had created another persona to the world. He was still stunned that she had carried her secret – the existence of their son – alone for so long, allowing him to be unaware of his own child for many years deliberately.

The sting of guilt about his own part in that was still looming over him. Bruce knew that the fact she had been let down several times in the past – not only by him – was relevant. It was one of the reasons she protected herself so fiercely. It explained a lot.

Her hard upbringing was something that still affect her in that it had influenced who she was. Because of that she had made up her mind that the only person she was going to depend on was herself. As far as he knew, Miranda did not really have close friends because she did not trust anyone enough to form a bond. Perhaps a little more insight into the workings of her mind might had prevented him from getting things so badly wrong.

If only he could make up all those years of isolation and loneliness... He wanted to erase the shadows from her eyes, to watch her smile bloom for him. He wanted her slim body twisting beneath him in sweet surrender.

However, the past hung between them, an obstacle to everything. Not only her past but his as well.

With Batman came baggage. Most of it Bruce carried deep within himself, in the form of regrets, unanswered questions, and memories. During his pilgrimage from rich kid to vigilante, he had gone many places, done many things, a lot of them ugly, one or two perhaps unforgivable. But he had succeeded in what he wanted to accomplish; he had learned, and equipped himself.

And once again he found himself in that cave, the same place where everything had started. Driven by an emotion he did not understand, hearing his own inner voice with great cleanness, Wayne set aside his personal concerns and began to transform himself.

He pressed a button on the console, rose from his seat and crossed the platform walkway toward some kind of easily lifted cube, which was hidden underwater until then. Once there, a glassy cabinet holding the Batsuit emerged from the cube.

_The time has come._

At this moment, Bruce realized he had never stopped needing Batman.

* * *

_**Over an unknow skyscraper's rooftop, Gotham City**_

Fifteen minutes later, Batman was standing atop a skyscraper, listening to police frequencies. Although a bright full moon lit the skies, the hot, thick air was a forerunner of heavy rain. The heat wave seemed to stir up the predators to come out of their burrows, but this time they would face a predator more dangerous – a silent guardian seeking justice.

* * *

_**Through Gotham City Streets**_

A petite blonde woman was walking the streets, a bag of groceries in one hand, her cellphone in the other. She stopped by a dimly lit corner in an attempt to use her phone.

"Can't hear you..." she said aloud. "I think my battery is down..."

Suddenly, a male husky voice came from behind her causing her to jump, "Hey, doll, come here and I'm gonna turn your battery on."

The woman let out a gasp as a man with a knife rose from the shadows threatening her. She tried to pull away but he grabbed her arm fiercely. She smelled a strong odor of alcohol on his breath and tried to jerk away vainly.

"Please, let me go! No!"

"Relax, doll. I promise you it's gonna be fun... Aargh!"

Out of sudden, the man was cut off and yanked inside to the dark alley by a silent figure in the shadows, who beat the shit out of him.

Under the frightened gaze of the woman the shadow left and the hoodlum lay on the alley's ground beaten. Then, she looked into the night sky. The heat wave was broken by the crashing of thunder and lightning, accompanied by rain.

* * *

_**Abandoned warehouse, Waterfront, Gotham City**_

Around a quarter past ten o'clock p.m., a group of five thugs were gathering inside an old storage facility, looking at some large cargo wooden crates. The place was lit only by their flashlights and the constant lightning outside.

One thug stepped up and moved the cover of one of the boxes aside enough to see the material inside.

"Look what I found!" he enthusiastically announced to everyone present. With a huge grin on his face, he opened the crate further, revealing a sophisticated line of arms.

"Don't touch it, man. He'll kill you!" another thug warned as soon as he was able to view the content of the crate.

"How long 'till the boss gets here?" a third thug asked.

The conversation was almost impossible above the loud noise of the rain beating on the roof.

"He'll be here," the second goon answered.

Unexpectedly, all the flashlights went off at the same time, leaving them virtually in total darkness.

"What the hell..." a fourth thug asked nonplussed.

"Gaggh!" the fifth goon emitted a muffled grunt as he was grabbed from behind. The other thugs turned around and gasped as the man disappeared in the shadows.

"Taylor?" the second goon called.

There was no reply, only the uninterrupted sound of the rain and rolling thunder.

Thug number one pulled a gun from under his jacket and nodded to thug number three, who drew his own gun and together they moved toward the darkness. The other two remained in the same place and got their fists at the ready.

Another lightning flashed and they quickly saw a large figure moving like a ghost before being engulfed by the shade again.

The armed thugs fired at random towards the shape. When the guns fell silent, another lightning lighted up the darkness around them, only to reveal the other two thugs knocked to the floor, unconscious.

Thug number one let out a gasp, shocked, as number three swore loudly, his voice edged with panic.

They were not able to guess whether the creature was human or an animal as a fierce fight ensued in the darkness, resulting in the victory of the shadow. The menace figure knelt down next the only one who remained conscious, yet unable to move. He grabbed the man by the collar and growled angrily, "Where were these weapons going?"

"Buh-buh... Ba-Batman?" the goon whispered, frightened and confused.

"Who are you working for?"

"Pe-Penguin..." the man gasped before passing out.

* * *

_**Phoenix Pharmaceuticals, Little Stockton, Gotham City**_

A man dressed in an elegant city suit walked through the car-parking in the basement of the building as two masked punks surrounded him and grabbed him by the neck pulling him into a dark corner.

"Shush... Don't try anything stupid," one of the masked men told the executive. "We're here to make you pay for your sins."

The bussiness man uttered a muffled gasp as the other punk giggled and produced a knife from his pocket, which he brandished in front of the other man's face, "Ready to be sentenced?"

Suddenly, the punk with the knife yelled in pain as some kind of bat-shaped shuriken hit him hard on the hand, making him to drop the sharp object.

The other masked outlaw turned around in an attempt to find out who had done this. "W-What?" he asked in disbelief.

A shadow dropped on them then disappeared with the executive.

"Where's he gone?" the other punk asked.

"He's vanished! He disappeared!"

"The hell is it?" the wounded goon shouted in panic.

Seconds later he heard a whisper in his ear, "Your favorite nightmare." He turned his head and met a masked face a few inches from him.

"Holy..."

Both attackers tried to runaway but Batman did not hesitate and jumped down to them with his sheer quickness, taking them all down. Two quick punches knocked out one of the punks.

Batman quickly spin around, grabbed the wounded goon and raised him up against the wall. "Tell your boss this city belongs to me." He dropped the guy, who slid to the ground, his head bobbing against the wall.

"You're supposed to be dead," he mumbled.

"Perhaps I'm immortal," Batman replied in his deep, husky voice.

From a safe area, the executive watched agape Batman vanishing into the shadows.


	22. 21 The Only Easy Day - Pt 1

___Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. _Sorry again for the long delay (I've been very, very busy recently). I_t's a shorter chapter than usual but I hope you guys like it_. _As you can see, the __fic is not dead yet_ but if you want it remains alive and kicking post some review after reading. Suggestions are very welcome too.

* * *

**XXI - The Only Easy Day… - Part 1**

_**Abandoned warehouse, Waterfront, Gotham City**_

Commissioner James Gordon stepped off his car as a uniformed cop came toward him. The storm had given a break a few minutes ago, but the air was still heavy with summer. "Sergeant?"

"Thought you might like to see this," the cop informed with a slightly grin forming, before leading him inside the ratty warehouse. As they walked through the depository, the man shone his flashlight onto five men whose backs were against a cargo wooden crate. All five were unconscious and bound with nylon rope.

Gordon inhaled sharply. He knew only one person who would be able to do such a thing. However that person was dead to the world.

_Could it be possible? Would he have came back?_

"We got a call, anonymous," the cop interrupted his thoughts. "Found heavy weaponry in the crates worth maybe more than eight digits on the street."

_Welcome to the real world, Jim. _Once again the city was infected with capos, gangs, smuggling and violence. After so much struggle, so much effort, crime and evil had found its ways of reigning unashamedly through Gotham streets.

Gordon gestured to the men on the ground. "These guys?"

"I'm not sure, Commissioner. They still need to be interrogated."

"Bring them to GCPD," Gordon said.

"Do you think _he'_s back?" the cop asked.

"It doesn't make any sense. _He_'s dead." Or so Gordon believed. The word '_retired'_ would fit better. "Yet, everything is consistent with his M.O."

"Are we dealing with a copycat?"

Gordon shrugged. "Dunno," he admitted. _It could be_.

A part of his mind wanted to believe that the actions of only one man had inspired others to take a selfless attitude in order to save the city. On the other hand, he would be crazy if he agreed with vigilantism. Gotham City had laws and people who worked hard so the citizens fulfilled them. He did not like to watch someone breaking the rules just so others could be obeyed.

He needed time to think. He started to get back toward his car. Two reporters from the Gotham Gazette tried to block his way and a photographer ran past him.

"Commissioner Gordon," one of the reporters – a blonde woman called –, extending a small digital recorder.

"Not now," Gordon growled and left.

* * *

_**Miranda Tate's house, Irving Grove, Gotham City**_

Morning had come and mother and son started to prepare themselves for the day in Tate's house. They were sitting down at the kitchen table, taking breakfast as a wall mounted flat panel TV was tuned on to Gotham Cable News, a habit Miranda kept up every single morning. Suddenly a headline caught Damian's attention and he raised the TV's volume, interrupting the little chat with his mother.

"_Reports stream in this morning of sightings of a bat-like creature... throughout the city last night. You don't suppose...?"_

They exchanged a concerned look as the anchorman kept speaking.

* * *

_**Iceberg Lounge Main Office, Lyntown, Gotham City**_

"_A group of dealers, seriously injured..."_

Oswald Cobblepot nervously manipulated a control panel, turning up the volume as the anchorwoman of the Channel 3 News Daybreak was informing about the last night events.

_Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! _he cursed in thought. "_Not now! Not now that things are going so well."_

He got his phone to make some important calls. He needed to know how deep the damage had gone.

* * *

_**Alice's Tea Cup, Gotham Village, Gotham City**_

Selina Kyle was sipping some coffee and sitting in a chair in the corner of the charming cafe. It was a boring summer morning and she was tired of sneaking around, looking for a security breach in Wayne Enterprises or a way of getting into the lives of the main directors of the company. The security level had increased consistently in the last few days and she was just hitting dead ends.

She did not know if her coming back to Gotham City made her lose her mojo or if the anticipation for a start fresh made her feel a little depressed. The thing was – for the first time in her life – Selina Kyle did not know what to do. Maybe it was just a phase of bad luck.

_Of course, I know about bad luck... that's one of the lessons that this city teaches us all, eventually_, she mused as she took a bite of her blueberry muffin and glanced around for an instant. All of a sudden, she realized the waitress and everybody else turned their attentions to the TV set behind the counter. The local news was showing some witnesses' reports about a creature which had been seen last night.

"_Looks like a big bat_," a woman said. "_It saved my life._"

"_A wild animal that snarled and growled_," a middle aged man prompted.

"_It was a flying monster... with wings and fangs_," another man informed.

"_It was definitely a man. But he had to be, like, 12 feet tall_," a young woman said.

Selina swallowed hard and cursed under her breath. _Just another guy with a hero complex and a fetish for bats. Now of all times!_

She needed to take extra care from now on, stay low radar and find out a way to fulfill her part in the agreement with Cobblepot without getting caught in the process. With some luck, she would gonna make it through without crossing her path with this new masked moron.

Selina was no dumb idiot. At this stage, the local police and federal authorities should already be in her thrall. She needed to focus, to use her experience and expertise to finally succeed. And she would or she did not call herself Selina Kyle.

* * *

_**Mayor's Office, Old Town District, Gotham City**_

"_Two critically injured members of the False Face Society were found in Phoenix Pharmaceuticals parking lot after an unsuccessful attempt to assault a top executive from the company. The victim described the gang's attacker as '_A man dressed as Dracula'_."_

"Guess you owe me an explanation, Gordon," Mayor Hill began. "Batman is dead. There's a granite statue erected for him in a plaza downtown. People mourned him. I have a stupid petition laying on my desk right now asking to turn the day of his sacrifice into an official city holiday. Now, there's some nutcase in a costume acting just like him and some klutz have already started to say he was never dead at all."

"Have they?" Gordon asked, a little bit surprised.

"Take a look at those comments on social networks," the Mayor informed Gordon in an exasperated tone, handing him a tablet.

"I think most people here agree that this '_nutcase in a costume_' is providing a public service," Gordon said after studying the posts carefully. He still was not completely quite sure about the true intentions of that '_new Batman_', but his instincts were saying the '_new one_' and the '_old one_' were the same person. Well, maybe it was time to pay a visit to an old acquaintance to get some answers.

"Most people are terrible wrong. Men and women in positions like mine and yours provide public service. Not a random troublemaker with a mask. This," Hill began as he held up the early edition of a newspaper and pointed to the headlines, "is unacceptable. I want him out of the media and out of the streets."

"Sir, GCPD lost more than one-third of its effective strength during the city's downfall and recovery. The level and intensity of violence has increased significantly in the last few months and we can't handle it. I'd rather allocate my staff to go after all the other pieces of scum crooks than hunting a masked man who use to help us," Gordon objected.

The Mayor ignored Gordon's arguments. "I don't care what he does. All I want is him out of my way. I don't want people think I've failed to live up to expectations so that they need to rely on an outlaw to ensure their safety. Not in times of campaigning, understand?"

"Sir, I can't afford..." Gordon started but was cut off by the Mayor.

"If you can not do your job properly then I'm afraid it's time for your resignation," Hill spat.

"I got it," Gordon said as he nodded solemnly. "I'll see what I can do," he added and turned to the exit, plainly seething.


	23. 22 The Only Easy Day - Pt 2

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. I had a little hard time on trying to find out the right tone to address Bruce/Alfred relationship. IMO, Alfred from Nolanverse is much more rough-edged than his comics counterpart. Though he's a very polite gentleman, he also doesn't stand on ceremony with regard speaking his mind. Thanks to BB and TDK novelizations (both by Dennis O'Neil) and two collection of essays books ("Superheroes and Philosophy" edited by Tom & Matt Morris; and "Batman Unauthorized" edited by Dennis O'Neil), I could finally find inspiration to write this chapter. Hope you guys like it. Feedback and suggestions are very welcome._

* * *

**XXII - The Only Easy Day… - Part 2**

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

By the end of the afternoon, Damian turned his key in the lock and pushed the large front door open. As if he was sensing the kid's presence, Titus came to meet him almost immediately, waving his tail in a joyful display of greeting his master.

"Hey, boy! Did you miss me?" Damian cooed as he knelt down and waited for the animal to get in close to hug him.

The dark Great Dane barked excitedly in response. He had taken to a life of luxury with extraordinary ease. Indeed, the big dog trotted about his spacious surroundings with a decided hint of cheerful pomposity, but Damian still felt sometimes as if he was playing a starring role in someone else's drama.

"Good evening, young Master Damian. I can see Titus already proceeded to do the honours of the house. I wonder if he has a sixth sense." Alfred Pennyworth came out of nowhere, moving in his tailored Savile Row suit with an agile confidence that belied his years.

"Hi, Alfred. Good to see you again," he replied with a genuine smile on his face. "This gentle giant here has just five but all sharp senses. Has he been causing some trouble?"

"No, not at all," the elder replied and added with gallows humor, "Unlike some human beings who seem to take pleasure in giving me a few headaches."

Seemingly Bruce had not showed up at Wayne Enterprises all day long, which caused some little commotion at the office. Yes, this was nothing new, but in recent times he seemed to be really committed to take over his role as responsible boss. For Damian, Bruce's absence meant that something wrong might have happened last night.

He looked uncertain and got to his feet. "Oh, I get it. Where he is?"

Alfred exhaled awkwardly. Wayne had been avoiding to face or communicate to him the whole day, like a child who had done something wrong, was aware of it and did not want to deal with the consequences of his actions. "Upstairs, in the master bedroom."

"Thanks," Damian said curtly and started to leave with Titus on his heels when he heard Alfred's voice and instantly turned to face the butler.

"Perhaps you could persuade Master Bruce to eat some healthy meal. You're very welcome to join him as well. I'll keep it warm for you two."

The teen smirked, "I'll try my best."

Alfred nodded and set off toward the kitchen as Damian climbed the staircase and followed a long corridor until reaching the large mahogany door of the master suite. He knocked on the door's room. No answer. He knocked a second time and a muffled reply came from inside.

"Come in."

And so he did.

* * *

Bruce was in front of the bathroom mirror desperately trying to once again patch himself up, but his attempt was considerably more amateur. He needed Alfred and his medical expertise to heal an injury along his left shoulder caused by a grazed shot last night.

_Stupid slow reflexes. _

_But what you're thinking you were doing? You're not in your thirties anymore. _

An insistent knocked on the door brought him out of his thoughts. He glanced at his watch and deduced that at this time the odds of being Damian were high. Not that he was afraid of confronting his own butler. For crying out loud! He was a grown man. A man trained by the League of the Shadows. He was the Batman. The Dark Knight of Gotham.

However, his old manservant had the persistent habit of treating him like he was a misbehaved boy who still wore short pants.

_Correction! _Alfred was more than just a mere loyal manservant. He was Bruce's faithful retainer, one-man support system. His best friend, his confidante, and the closest thing he had got to a family in years.

_Family relationships can be complicated._

Pushing aside his own worries, Bruce said loud enough to be heard at the other end of his suite, "Come in."

As he had guessed, it was Damian followed by his loyal pet. He welcomed him with a shy grin, a towel was over his bare shoulders hiding his wound. "Hey."

"Hey." For one brief moment Damian studied Bruce's face as though seeking answers there. When his father did not say anything else, the kid took the initiative to break the clutching but short silence that was hovering over them, "I thought you gave up crime fighting. I mean, I thought I heard you saying, '_It's not who I am anymore_.'"

"Change of plans," Bruce said quietly, before getting to his walk-in closet.

Damian followed him, his brows furrowed and his frown deepened. "Change of plans? That's complete bull, that is! You wanted to keep me off of your plans. That's why you gave me that munkie talk some nights ago. What are you afraid of? That I'll be better than you?" His words drifted, punctuated by a rising resentment he could not place.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Bruce spat as he pulled a clean shirt from the hanger with some difficulty. "This is not a battle between males for controlling the pack."

"So, tell me what is it?" the teen asked petulantly.

Wayne inhaled sharply, the pain in his shoulder was killing him and he felt really uncomfortable because he did not expect to have to give explanations to his son. He imagined the boy would support him – or at least comprehend him – without further justification.

"Have you ever come to think that perhaps I didn't want you to get involved with all of this because I was protecting you?"

"I don't need protection."

Bruce rolled his eyes. _Here we go again. Memorial lane. _He turned his back to his son, tossed the towel aside and proceeded to dress himself, preventing the teen to notice the large wound on his shoulder.

"You could at least have had the consideration to tell me..." Damian added. The words fell between them. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

Bruce took a deep breath and forced a neutral mask to his looks before turning around to face his son, but he could not help but let the words coming out of his mouth with a hint of impatience, "To be honest, Damian, I don't think I have to run anything by you."

The kid looked taken aback. "No, I suppose you don't. Although I thought we were a team..."

The older man suppressed a curse mindful of the teen's hurtful gaze. "Look, son," he began haltingly, "I'm aware of your capabilities. But this is not a game. If you pursue this, you may get hurt badly or worse, do you understand me?"

"Don't patronize me. I'm not a child anymore," Damian replied harshly. Titus, confused and frightened, darted his gaze between the two men. "I've really got concept of reality."

"Then you know there's a war out there and it's far from over. Which is why I need you to stay here and be my backup if all the hell breaks loose. No way I'm going to throw my only child at the front line at the mercy of a bunch of predators who doesn't know how to play fair!" This time, Bruce looked like he was really peeved. His answer was quite definite.

Damian clicked his tongue in an annoying way, which was becoming a frequent custom with him. "I wasn't taught to fight fair. I was taught to win."

Bruce absently stroked his forehead in a clear sign of weariness. "There are people who've trained their entire lives and fallen in those streets."

"I may not have the same training as you but training is nothing. The will is everything."

Damian's last words echoed in Bruce's ears and brought a lot of painful memories. "What did you just say?" he asked abruptly, a little bit rough.

"The will is everything..." the kid replied, inflamed but soon changed his tone as he noticed a growing dark stain on his father's shirt just below his left shoulder. He was bleeding. "You're... I guess you're injured," he said, pointing to the stain.

Wayne swore aloud – in a way that Damian had not ever witnessed – and trudged toward the bathroom. He pulled out his shirt and Damian shivered at the sight of a series of badly made stitches, just like Frankenstein.

"I'm gonna fetch Alfred to do his medical magic then I'll be back, okay?"

"Okay." Bruce nodded and fell into a chair as Titus stayed still, standing guard in the corner of the room.

* * *

_**Conference Room, GCPD, Downtown, Gotham City**_

It was seven-thirty and Jim Gordon was still sitting at a large meeting table. He sipped coffee from a paper cup. Lousy coffee, already cold. He dropped the half-full cup into a trash container and turned to his co-workers – Detective Crispus Allen, Captain Maggie Sawyer, and Lieutenants Sarah Essen and Jerry Hennelly. All of them appeared weary with reports and area maps filling the table and bulletin boards on the walls.

"Tell me," Gordon said.

"Latest reports indicate significant increases in assault, battery, robbery, trafficking, drug trade…" Sawyer announced and next she tossed the report amongst the ocean of papers on the table. "You name it we go it."

Gordon snorted. "Nothing new, I'm afraid."

Everyone in the room sighed and exchanged glances. With the confidence of a veteran, Allen took the floor, "We interrogated the gun dealers for more than four hours and all we were able to get was a name, or rather a nickname – Penguin. He's the new crime baron of the city."

"The name Penguin has been throwing around for quite some time but we can't even get some tip on who he really is," Sawyer interjected. "He's a ghost."

"A ghost who has Gotham's underworld at his control," Lieutenant Essen stated. "Just like that other guy..."

"Black Mask?" Lieutenant Hennelly offered. "Both share a lot of loyalty from their hired goons."

"Could be the same person?" Essen asked.

"No, something doesn't add up," Gordon began. "Black Mask's thugs follow a pattern. The Society acts like some nonprofit murderous cult. This bird dude, well, his motivation seems to fit into reap the largest benefits, just like any other mob boss. I want a list of every crime lord and their seconds and thirds in command who had been locked in Blackgate, were released by Bane and haven't been caught yet."

"Do you believe the Penguin is someone well known to us?" Allen questioned.

"Maybe," Gordon replied cooly. "Someone who already knows the twists and turns of Gotham's underworld."

"Look, this is all very, very weird. Why are we focusing on people who doesn't have a cent on their names? Aren't those guys' money confiscated? From where they would withdraw the cash to carry on their dealer activities," Hennelly pointed out.

"It makes sense what the lieutenant said, sir," Sawyer agreed.

"This sort of people always find their ways in the end," Gordon said with a hint of annoyance. "I want the list in my desk as soon as possible, okay?"

A knock came from the door and the face of a young officer slid in the visual. "Excuse me, Commissioner. Your daughter isn't going along so well with your lateness. She's getting a little bit impatient."

"Okay, that's all folks. See you tomorrow. If you guys need me, you know how to find me." Gordon declared as he stood from the table and wrapped up his things. "And I need solutions. Mayor Hill has the strong belief that no one is irreplaceable as he made a point of reminding me of that."

At Gordon's suddenly outpouring, everyone started to talk at the same time. He ignored the dissonant sound of outraged phrases and exited the room to the hallway. He saw Barbara sat on a chair while playing on her cell phone, completely focused.

"Come on, hon. Let's go home," he addressed her tenderly.

The young redhead looked up and cracked a small smile. "About time!"

Out of sudden, Allen reached them. "Sir, have you ever considered turning on that signal on the rooftop again?"

Jim Gordon just smirked and nodded with a sparkle in his eyes. Then he walked away alongside his daughter, trying to leave all his worries behind.

* * *

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

"When is it enough, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked calmly while he carried on sewing the sutures.

"Come on, Alfred. What are you, my nursemaid?" Bruce replied annoyed. For a moment he had considered he would simply not answer the butler's question, but thought better of it. He already had had enough of all of them judging him. First Damian. Now Alfred.

What's the big deal on trying to save the city of chaos, crime and violence?

"I suppose, in a manner of speaking, I am," Alfred said sardonically. "My job description has always been a bit nebulous."

Bruce just rolled his eyes and snorted in response, glancing at the the other side of his room where Titus was playing with a little red ball.

"When does it stop? Is there any end to Batman?" Alfred's blasé tone did not match to the meaning of his words.

"Batman will never stop. He is to be a symbol…."

"For God's sake, sir," Alfred spat as he got a roll of bandages. "It's not Batman that I care about! It's Bruce Wayne! That's still a man's heart beating under that suit and there are people who care about you that don't wish to see your dead body claimed as a prize by some bloody crime boss."

"I cannot surrender Gotham to those freak guys. The police is chasing its tail madly. Gordon doesn't have enough men to handle everything."

"It's those freaks today and someone else tomorrow. And they will always seek to destroy Batman. I would have thought that you would have understood that by now."

"Alfred... I'm not losing myself this time. Not like I did when I thought there was nothing out there for me," Bruce honestly confessed.

"I almost lost you once and you got a second chance. I don't want to see you waste it." Alfred's eyes went moist as he recalled Bruce's funeral months ago.

Pained with the feelings of the older man, Wayne softened his expression. "I won't, old friend. And this time I'll make the difference not only by wearing a mask but showing my true face as well."

Wayne's reassurance seemed to have eased Alfred's worries down. At least, a little.

"I'm glad to hear that," the British butler said, grinning slightly. "If this is the case, then I'm ready to aid you in your endeavor again."

Bruce gave a half smile and nodded.

However, Alfred added quickly, with his usual refined irony, "As people say, '_if you can't fight the enemy, join him_'." Next, he started to apply the bandage over the wound, but stopped when Wayne winced. "Sorry."

The billionaire smirked and tilted his head to one side. "That's okay. Go on and get over it."

A few minutes later, Alfred finished his job and stepped back. "It's ready, sir."

"Thanks, Alfred." He paused for a moment, watching Alfred gathering the first aid supplies and discarding his latex gloves. "I couldn't deny it anymore... The need, you know." He took a deep breath before adding, "Also, I'm having issues with my road to redemption..." Bruce finally confided in a cracked voice, turning his head to the elder man.

"With all due respect, sir, do you truly believe punching some criminals will help matters?"

"It clears my head."

Alfred failed to hold a short laugh and sat across from him in another chair, so he could meet his former pupil's piercing gaze.

"What? I need to dull my thoughts or I'll be eviscerated by them," Bruce took a defensive tone.

Alfred let a lazy little smile play on his lips."If it has to do with your frustration regarding Miss Tate... Well, I know one way or two to deal with it. It's more pleasurable and less painful than beating some crooks."

Wayne laughed in a way he had not in a long time. "Oh, please, Alfred!"

Pennyworth was right. To some extent, Miranda's emotional breakdown had acted as a catalyst for him to return to action. He wanted so bad to take that pain away from her, but he did not know how. That woman was out of reach. Each time he advanced a step it seemed she regressed even further. Anger and frustration were the perfect fuel to fight crime.

"What's so funny?" Damian emerged at the door, interrupting them.

Alfred stood up and stretched his suit back to its perfect fit. "Old stories of wartime, young lad. Now if you both excuse me, I'm going to be downstairs. By the way, there's some comfortable food waiting for you in the dinner room."

Wayne pulled himself up from the chair. "We're going soon, Alfred."

"Are you alright?" the kid asked as soon as the butler left.

"I'll be. The rub is that I have this important game of golf at the club tomorrow, and I'm gonna have to find out an explanation for this one," Bruce said, pointing to his wound.

"What about hickey gone wrong?" Damian offered sassily. At least he did not look angry or disappointed. _So far, so good._

His father just chuckled and went to get an old clean T-shirt from his closet. Damian's idea sounded like the prime excuse for a playboy.

"You don't sound overly enthusiastic."

Bruce suppressed a sigh as he dressed the T-shirt. "It's a necessary tedium. Oswald Cobblepot arranged the tournament. Seems the perfect pretext to know him better."

"Do you suspect him?"

"There's more to him than meets the eye. The press is poking around his backyard and revealing some interesting things. His past isn't so clean as he wants everyone to believe. So it doesn't need to be a genius to make the connection between Mr. Cobblepot and the wrong side of the law. The key question is how much he's bogged down with bad people?"

"Do you sense Cobblepot's hands behind this new wave of crime?"

"Not directly, but his business partners may be. I wouldn't be surprised if the new crime lord himself would be in the midst of Gotham's elite."

"I can be useful to you, you know, I still have my contacts on the streets and..." His eyes held his father's. As a result of Bruce's mortal silence, he added quickly, "What's the point of giving me access to the cave and to your arsenal if I can't fight with you?"

"It was a vote of confidence," Bruce growled. "It didn't mean I'd give you a car and a cape and let you fight by my side."

The teen cocked his head, then took a couple of steps in Bruce's direction. "I'm not an idiot. I know I'm not ready. Not yet. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna just sit by and watch. Not when I know I can do more."

_Training is nothing. The will is everything._

"This is nothing you can decide easily, or alone," Bruce objected seriously. "I shall forbid you."

"When's that ever stopped me?" the kid challenged. His blue eyes held still and wide.

_If you can't fight the enemy, join him._

"Fine. I give up," Wayne declared with strong reluctance, throwing his hands up in frustration. "With only one condition," he began, pointing his finger at his rebel son, "you'll just go out to field when I think you're ready, understand?"

Damian nodded. A shy grin was forming on his lips. His persistence paid off and he eventually wore Bruce down.

"You're going to use your free time after school to train, preferably under an adult's supervision."

"What?!" the teen asked in disbelief. "I've spent the hours after school at R&D..." _With Tam._

Bruce cut him off, "These are my terms and you're not in a position to argue. Take it or leave it. The choice is up to you."

The young walked slowly across the room. He bit at his lower lip as he turned things over in his mind. Finally he turned around to face his father, "Right!"

"You're not allowed to cheat." Wayne reminded him before leading the path to the ground floor. However, he suddenly stopped by the top of the stairs, founding Damian's gaze and then he said calmly, "And just to make it clear, I do love you. That's why I didn't want to see you caught up in all this madness."

Bruce walked down the staircase steadily before Damian had a chance to open his mouth. The kid just stood still for a while and next he followed the older man.

He had a smile stretched from ear to ear.


	24. 23 Ruffled Feathers

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. Please, don't forget to read and review._

* * *

**XXIII - Ruffled Feathers**

_**The Thomas And Martha Wayne Home for children, Downtown, Gotham City**_

In the following morning, Miranda chose to went along with Damian to the Home for Children, a ritual that was becoming faithfully followed by him every Saturday. It was a moment he took the opportunity to meet his old friends, to catch up on each other's news, to play and kick a ball around.

Wayne Foundation encouraged community involvement and constantly promoted and supported volunteering. Saturday was the week day the Home for Children opened its doors for all those who would like to offer a little free time, patience and affection for the orphaned children.

Right that moment, Miranda was sitting cross-legged with a group of very young children around her. She was reading a story and looked very young herself, in a mid summer floral printed maxi dress. A Fedora hat on her head and a pair of low-heeled sandals on her feet completed her outfit.

She finished the story and looked up with a smile only to look straight into Helena's direction. The little girl was sitting on a bench a few feets away from where the group was, lost in her own thoughts. Bessie was firmly clutched against her small body like a lifesaving device.

Torn, Miranda knew she could not ignore that vulnerable child. She excused herself and, under a chorus of childish voices in protest, she stood absently and walked towards Helena.

"Come on, little fellows. Miss Tate needs a break. What about some time on the playground, huh?" one of the female staff members offered and soon afterwards a bunch of small excited kids rushed through the door toward the playground area.

The millionaire tycoon did not pay too much attention to the fuss created by the children. Her senses were all channeled to the little brown-haired girl. The second Miranda had seen her two days before, she had known she was in love. Despite her trauma, Helena did look absolutely adorable. Since they shared so much in common, the feeling of being connected to that girl was too powerful to ignore.

For a short moment she thought about Bruce and how he had chosen to deal with the pain in his soul. It hurt her to know that he was still driven to pursue his crusade. The pain, it seemed, would never diminish, only be compounded. Either this or he simply was not ready to let the fight go. Not yet. Unlike her, who desperately wanted a fresh start and a chance to prove to herself that she could rebound from the lows she had experienced her whole life. She wanted to move things to the next level, though there was a long road ahead of her, it was a start.

Miranda sighed, longing tugging at her. For the missing years of Damian's childhood. For every single step and achievement that she had been unable to witness. The longing quickly became a fierce pang, slamming through her. Until now she had never believed that she had ever want to have another child again. Yet right now she would give her heart to have another one. More specifically that kid – Helena.

How could she think like this and not feel guilty about Damian? She should feel she was being unfaithful to her biological child – the same one she had put up for adoption sixteen years ago – by wanting another, but she did not.

Oddly, Miranda – who was a very pragmatic woman – realized fate worked in strange ways. She had been an orphaned girl who had had spent most of her childhood and youth seeking a warm-hearted, loving family. As an young adult, she had seen herself being forced to give up of her own son on behalf of his safety and welfare, allowing him to grow up in a real home with a caring family. Years later, she had been obliged to face her sins of the past when she had been reunited again with her long lost child. And now, she felt the circle was coming full round by the opportunity to give a parentless child a new family.

However, Miranda did not want to rush into things. First of all, she needed to get closer to Helena and earn her trust, and then see if she would accept both Damian and her in her life, otherwise she would not force the poor little girl into a life of constant sorrow.

Helena did not even blink as Miranda approached. Her gaze was focused on the late-June sun shining through the large windows of the room.

_Time to make the first move._

"Hey! Can I join you?"

The five year old girl turned her head to her and nodded slightly.

"Thank you," Miranda replied as she sat on a bench beside her. "How is Bessie doing?" She sounded anxious and censured herself mentally for her lack of creativity.

Helena darted her gaze between the woman and the doll as if she was unsure about what to do or say. After what seemed like a everlasting silence, the girl answered in a whisper, "Bessie is okay."

Miranda could not help but wide her eyes in surprise. Helena did just talk to her! Her childlike voice providing a warmth in her insides. A big smile crossed Miranda's lips. "I'm glad to hear that. And what about you?" she pressed.

A long pause and then Helena said shyly, "I'm fine."

"Well, that's good. You know, my invitation for the tea party is still up. Any day you want it."

Helena nodded in agreement.

"Would you like to join the other kids on the playground? I bet Bessie would appreciate some fresh air and so would you. What do you think about it?"

The little girl gripped the doll tighter and shook her head vehemently.

"Right. Hum..." Miranda began uneasy, studying Helena's face. "So, we can stay here and play by ourselves. What do you like to play?"

"I like drawing and coloring books." Helena's cheeks were flushed and her green eyes showed a hint of sparkle.

For the first time Miranda felt she was walking on firm ground with the little one. "Oh, you're an artist."

"No, my mommy was," the girl blurted with a level of understanding beyond what the woman might assume. "She's in heaven now. That's what everyone said. Bad men hurt her so much 'till she could never woke up again." Her tiny pink lips were trembling, her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. It looked like she was making a massive effort to not give vent to her crying. "Daddy is in heaven too..."

Miranda tensed and swallowed hard. She tentatively touched the child's hand and said in a soft tone, "I'm very sorry, Helena. Like you, I lost my parents when I was about your age. They were taken away from me by bad men too. I know it's not easy but I can assure you with time, all wounds will heal. There will come a time in your life when all this grief will no longer be able to harm you. You just have to shake it out." Her blue eyes never left Helena's eyes as she spoke emotionally.

More tears welled from Helena's eyes and out of sudden she threw herself in Miranda's arms, wrapping her little arms around her neck tightly and sobbing. Taken aback by her unexpected demonstration of emotion Miranda took some time to react until she finally cuddled the little girl in her arms and crooned to her, "It's alright. Everything is gonna be fine. I promise you."

Miranda closed her eyes and allowed herself to shed some tears too. Now, more than ever, she knew arrangements needed to be made.

* * *

_**Winnie Coto Country Club, Palisades, outer Gotham City Limits**_

Winnie Coto Country Club was a place attended mainly by wealthy gentleman, who went there to enjoy sports such as golf, tennis and polo. They had bars, smoking rooms, exclusive wait staff and many luxuries. It was an exclusive and comfortable place to escape from work and family on weekends. This morning, Winnie Coto was the stage for a coveted golf match.

"I'm afraid golf isn't your cup of tea, Mr. Wayne." Cobblepot's polite, modulated voice permeated the small crowd lining the fairway on the nine hole, holding a hint of amusement. Wearing a Puma golfer's hat, an argyle polo shirt and Bermuda shorts, the entrepreneur was an absolute golfer and, as such, waited until Wayne made a shot to break the silence. "What about a short pause before continuing?"

Looking better in his golf shirt and Dockers than most men looked in a tux, Bruce smirked as everyone around giggled in response of Cobblepot's attempt to joke. "You did hit the nail on the head, Mr. Cobblepot. I'd rather extreme sports."

It was the worst golf game in Wayne's history – even including the one when he, at thirty one, had been pretending to be drunked all time long and had not let go of the hole number seven until someone gently got him off the game.

Back then, it had been funny to play his playboy façade every once in a while to conceal who he really was. Today, his shoulder injury was a constant source of discomfort and it made difficult even to hold the clubs, let alone make a shot. However the sacrifice would be worth, since he was eagerly anticipating this encounter.

"And, please, call me Bruce," he corrected, turning to the other man cordially.

"Then I insist on being Oswald."

"By saying extreme sports you're meaning dating gorgeous international models, driving sports car, throwing the most lavish parties in town, buying what is not for sale and, I dare add, making a child with a business shark," Prescott Belmont chimed derisively from a short distance in the gallery.

The Belmonts were a family with a history in banking. Prescott – a man in his fifties – , for instance, was the President of The Gotham City State Bank. He had miraculously survived Bane's army uproar against the wealthy and rich last year, and he was – according to Bruce – a bloody lucky bastard.

"Carefully Belmont," Bruce began firmly in a tone Prescott could not ignore. "'Bite your tongue before you say something bad about the mother of my son."

The older man shrugged and Cobblepot stepped in, "Prescott, Prescott, my mate. This is not the ways of gentleman, though I have to agree you're honest. Brutal, but honest."

Bruce furrowed his brows which caused Oswald to add quickly, "Don't get me wrong Bruce, but Miss Tate has built quite a reputation in business world..."

"Indeed," Bruce replied, bristling. "And I am very grateful that her efforts and '_reputation' _are helping to take Wayne Enterprises to a new height."

"I bet she is," Cobblepot loaded his tone with sympathy as they walked toward a resting area, where cast-iron patio tables with bright green and white umbrellas were positioned. "Since it's of her interest to keep Wayne's legacy."

Bruce did not like the tone Oswald was using. It was not a genuine insult, but it sounded like a thinly veiled sarcasm, as if Miranda was some greedy and ambitious wanton female with some ulterior motive behind her efforts.

"Wayne's legacy is beyond money, Oswald. The greatest legacy is that which benefits the widest number of people for the longest period without limit to value. That's what my ancestors had done for this city for generations. I don't have the right to destroy their work or impoverish that dynasty. And that's what I trust to Wayne Enterprises managers to keep," Bruce said as they sat at the table and a waiter immediately brought them two bottles of _Oxygizer _water.

"You just spoke like a true old money heir."

This high up the ladder, the international financial community was like an exclusive club. People knew things about each other and what Bruce knew was that Cobblepot's wealth and stature, despite his family name, had not come from legacy and inheritance but had been solely self-created. The great question was: How?

"I have to admit that my fortune is the work of others who laboured to build a great dynasty. In the end of the day I'm just a custodian, not an owner. But a proud one I must say." Bruce paused and had a sip of his water before adding, "Surely a man who came from one of the most powerful and traditional families from Gotham must understand this."

That seemed to have hit a nerve in Oswald, who blinked and briefly lost his airs and graces. "I don't rely on my family's fortune or name because I was always out there, making a name for myself," he said wryly. "Thanks to the Waynes I no longer belong to Gotham royalty from way back."

"I hope you don't have any hard feelings. Enough time has passed for us to put grievances and old rivalries aside," Bruce said with a half smile as other men joined them and took theirs seats. "Our generation must take aim at the future."

"That's why I came back to Gotham – to shape this city's future and to undo what's been done. To restore Cobblepot's name into its former glory," he declared proudly.

"You're a truly visionary, Ozzy," Veronica Vreeland's husband – Dimitri Antonovich – spoke with a thick accent. "This city needs other politicians like you."

Prescott Belmont finally came close to the group, a glass of scotch in his hand, he uttered with an air of theatrical address, "Gotham's traditional elite gathering together again just like in the beginning of time. There was an era when the Waynes, Kanes, Elliots, and Cobblepots were pretty much business competitors and yet allies responsible for establishing Gotham's future."

"So be it," Oswald replied with a hint of mockery, raising his bottle of water.

"I hope you guys include in your endeavor a way to stop this criminality," Basil Bowman – an industrialist of the food sector and Wayne's old acquaintance – remarked emphatically. "Gotham seems to be a magnet for masked freaks with a taste for drama. Police should catch them and throw them to fester in Arkham."

"People are saying the Bat-man is alive and kicking," Antonovich stated.

"Probably it's just another guy with issues," Bruce said nonchalantly. _Many issues_.

Cobblepot sighed tiredly. "Ahh... the Batman. While I have an affection for most flying creatures... the winged rat is not among them."

Belmont grimaced humorously. "And there's a guy named Penguin... and another who attends by the name of Black Mask."

Oswald chuckled. "We had a bat and now a penguin. Masked men are popping right and left. What is it about this city? The water?"

Everyone laughed at Cobblepot's statement and then he interjected, "No, seriously, if I win the election, I promise you that each and every criminal will be off the streets. Gotham will be safe for good, honest people once again."

The men cheered at his speech but Bruce remained restrained, his gaze locked on Cobblepot's. "Looks like you have a huge task ahead. Be sure not to bite off more than you can chew."

Bruce was being deliberately combative and Oswald gave a reluctant laugh. He felt the anger start to heat inside him alongside with darker emotions. It was a visceral reaction, a conditioned response reinforced by a lifetime of animosity and resentment between their families.

"A good advice coming from a man who knows very well about snatching up everything around him." Oswald's British accent – a reminiscent of the long time he had lived in the Queen's Land – rose even higher as he spat slowly.

Tension filled the air as Bruce smirked and replied, looking Oswald straight in the eye, "You see, to me it sounds like a pretty bit ambitious for one with an interesting rap sheet."

The rest of the group exchanged nervous glances but wisely chose to remain silent.

Oswald gave a short laugh that was not very convincing, "Oh, oh yes. My more rambunctious days." He squirmed in his seat and looked at Wayne like a predator considering its prey. He was about to lose his temper but managed to recover his composure in a less than a second.

"Well, if you have attempted to check my criminal record you will have noticed anything unusual for a boy who grew up in a dodge neighborhood. Also, I think we all have some skeletons in the closet. Take your son for instance. I've heard he spent some time in the reformatory school... And I bet you have some dirty little secret lying under the carpet."

"Even though I wanted to keep a secret the media would never allow it," Bruce said without hesitation.

Before Oswald could retort, a footman approached him, "Sir, Mr. Waters is here and he insists on talking to you."

Cobblepot stood up and announced, "Gentlemen, I'm afraid I have to leave this game for another day. Duty calls. If you will excuse me..."

"That's a pity," Wayne muttered between his teeth.

"Go ahead," Bowman encouraged.

"Yeah, this round is already dead," Belmont reinforced with his typical hint of mockery.

"Still hoping to see you on the Caesar's tonight," Antonovich reminded him.

Oswald nodded and then ushered himself into the golf cart and drove back to the clubhouse.

Antonovich turned to Wayne, "He's a bit rough around the edges, but he's a straight arrow."

"Do you know each other for a long time?" Bruce asked.

"I'd say since I immigrated to England. A couple of years or so."

"Hmm," Bruce hummed warily.

"Look, Mr. Wayne, it's not nice of you spying in Ozzy's life and make allegations."

"I'm just trying to figure it out if Mr. Cobblepot deserves my support in his campaign. That's all."

"Fair enough. But be aware that he's a righteous man despite his dark past."

"Well, Mr. Antonovich," Bruce began, "if there is anything I've learned in this life it's that there are only two kinds of men: the righteous who think they are sinners and the sinners who think they are righteous." That said he rose from his seat, without bothering with Dimitri's reaction and informed everyone, "Now if you guys will excuse me I'll have to drop this match as well."

"Nahhh," the men complained in unison.

Bowman checked his watch. "It was boring anyway. And I do have to go too. Shall we?" he asked, glancing toward Bruce.

"Yep," Bruce prompted and went to the to golf cart with Basil. Meanwhile, he told himself that it was just a matter of time before he found out what kind of dangerous connections Cobblepot kept.

* * *

_**The Thomas And Martha Wayne Home for children, Downtown, Gotham City**_

"Hey, kiddo, little help?" Damian asked to no one in particular as the children started to drift away from the makeshift basketball court that had been set up for them temporarily. He loved the buzz of being around young, and for the most part, enthusiastic people. Sometimes he missed the time he lived in the company of the '_Lost Boys_' at Park Row. He missed the games and uproars he played with his pals. And mainly he missed his late soul brother Colin Wilkes.

He was about to bent down to gather up all the sporting goods that were scattered throughout the floor when a familiar voice brought him to attention.

"How about me?"

"Steph? Hey, hum, hi..." he said confoundedly.

The blonde teenager gave a half smile. "You all right?"

"Never been better," he replied nonchalantly.

"Here. Let me help you," she offered before helping him to collect a bunch of training vests, squeeze water bottles and a pair of basketballs.

"Thanks."

"I thought I wouldn't see you here today."

He looked puzzled by the question. "Why?"

"Well," Stephanie started and then continued in a low tone, almost a whisper, "I've heard the news about this new masked vigilante. Thought you might have a hand in it."

Damian tensed, his shoulders stiffened. "Oh, yes. Um, I'm not ready for that just yet."

"Of course not." Her disappointment was obvious from her face. "You're too busy playing the trust fund baby role."

"Hey, what's the matter with you, huh?" he said savagely. "Since I've got back to town you've been throwing this shit in my face. Treating me like I ain't nothing but a spoiled rich kid. I thought we're friends. You're supposed to be happy for me now that I've finally found my parents."

Stephanie opened her mouth to speak, but before she could reply someone else stepped in.

"Hey, dudes. What's up?" Mitch Hawker asked, a smirk forming in his lips.

"Hello, Mitch," Damian answered dryly as Stephanie held back a groan, lifted her chin and left without bothering to say good-bye.

"Hey, DJ, what's wrong with that chick?"

Damian shrugged, pretending he did not care. "Girls. Go figure."

"Good to see ya here. The timing is just too perfect." Mitch said, cocking an eyebrow as a wicked grin crossed his lips.

"Why on earth would say that?"

Mitch smiled wryly. "Haven't you been fed up with this swanky lifestyle yet?"

"Oh, give it a rest. I'm sick of listening to this!" Damian burst out and started to walk away but the other guy stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"Okay, okay. Sorry, bro. The thing is, are you still game for anything?"

"It depends on," Damian responded, tugging his arm free.

"I've heard about some hot stuff that's gonna arrive tonight at the waterfront. The boss needs skilled men to get things properly. Thought you might be interested."

Damian remained silent for a moment, processing Mitch's words before answering. Hawker was not a bad guy, nonetheless his poor choices in friends and deeds had been keeping to land him in trouble from time to time.

"Count me out."

Mitch's eyes widened in shocked disbelief. "What? Why not, man? You're perfect to do this job."

"'Cause this sortta thing won't pull me back in. Neither you should be in deep with those people anymore. You have a new life, a decent job. Why risking to ruin everything right now?"

"Knock it off, DJ! That's easy for you to say. Now you're the new prince of Gotham. The heir of Wayne fortune. I'll tell you what, you're no better than a wussy bastard."

Visibly huffy, Damian pursed his lips into a thin line and clenched his fists at his sides. "I'm sorry, but I can't turn into someone else just to please you. Now piss off, Mitch, before I forget we've been pals and punch your face."

"Hey honey, there you are," Miranda's soft voice interrupted them.

Damian turned around to find his mother holding hands with a little girl. The kid was holding a doll that had seen better days and had a solemn look on her face.

Miranda darted her gaze between the two young man, sensing there was something wrong.

"Oh, am I interrupting something?"

"Nah, not at all, ma'am," Mitch prompted, giving a sidelong glance at Damian, who remained silent. "I was about to leave."

Without further ado, he turned away and left roughly.

"Have a nice day," she hissed under her breath, before turning to her son. "What was that?" she asked pointing her thumb towards Mitch.

"Don't worry. We're just... hanging," he paused and looked at Helena. "Hey, who's this munchkin?"

"This is Helena. Helena, I want you meet my son Damian."

He looked quizzically at the girl and then to Miranda. So this was the girl his mother had spoken about. Crouching to address her, he smiled slightly. "Hey, little one. How you doin'?"

Helena studied him intently, holding herself stiffly.

Damian looked up at his mother as if he was asking her what he had done wrong. Miranda smiled back and mouthed, "It's okay."

Right. The girl was not really a talkative kind of person and she probably was scared to death of her surroundings. Damian knew the feeling. He knew what was like to be alone, to be angry and lost.

Turning again to the girl, he spoke quietly, "Are you watching closely?"

His gaze never left Helena's staring eyes as he reached to her ear and casually produced a coin. The girl marveled as she took the coin and then look at him.

"Are you a magician?" the little kid asked in awe.

"I learned a trick or two when I lived at a circus," the teen replied and then smiled, petting the girl on the head. He stood, smirking to himself with victory. "I can teach you some if you want to."

Miranda rolled her eyes in amusement and realized how his son had a warm and caring heart that made him a natural protector. Just like a big brother should be.


	25. 24 When Night Comes Down

___Warning_! This chapter contains a little bit of m_ild language. __Please, don't forget to post a review._ Again, _thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. _

* * *

**XXIV - When Night Comes Down**

_**Selina Kyle's flat, East End, Gotham City**_

It was already night when a well-dressed woman with honey blonde hair combed in a simple bun exited the apartment complex and got into a yellow cab that was waiting for her.

_Make no mistake, dude. It's her._

Across the street, protected by the shadows, a young man wearing a baseball cap and sweat clothes that were old and frayed, watched her go and checked a tracking app on his phone. The signal was clear and strong.

He crossed the street and hurried up toward the signal source. After a few flights of stairs, Damian reached the right floor but it was difficult to find the right apartment. He roamed through the corridors until the red warning sign flashed on the screen strongly.

_Damn right!_

He glanced around and noticed he was completely alone. Without wasting time, he managed to break and enter the flat swimmingly.

_Just like old times._

Kyle's place was small and the the decor was very Spartan. Damian lit a small flashlight and took a good look around in an attempt to get some clue. Out of sudden, he felt something plush and soft tangling between his heels. Startled, he stepped back and realized it was a black cat.

_That's all I need_, he mused and crouched next the pet. It was then he noticed something sparkling around the kitten's neck.

Damian stared, unbelieving, at the necklace around its slender and furry neck. He would recognise it anywhere, had known it all his life. The robin pendant carved with a combination of different precious stones attached to a small golden nest, worn but still solid. Its centerpiece adorned with four tiny, exquisite pearls posing as little eggs.

_The necklace!_ His mother necklace. Damian could not believe his luck.

"Hey there, little fellow. Let me..." he whispered as he took off the necklace from the cat's neck. The animal meowed, thwarted, and Damian grinned as he pulled the jewelry into his pocket.

"Believe me, you're not gonna need it."

Glancing around, Damian made one last brief inspection before getting out. One mission accomplished. Now he needed to prepare himself to be elsewhere.

* * *

_**Modern Office Block, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

Since it was a Saturday night there were few people around the complex of business offices. The area was mostly empty as a yellow cab pulled up outside the ultra-modern building. An elegant Selina Kyle got out and moved inside, a medium-sized package in her hands.

The foyer was desert except for the guard at the reception desk. Selina exchanged a few words with him and headed for the elevator. A small smile emerged at the corner of her bright red lips.

* * *

_**Gotham Caesar's Palace Hotel, Midtown, Gotham City**_

Flanked by a team of his fiercest-looking bodyguards, Oswald Cobblepot crossed the huge and fancy lobby of the Caesar's Palace like a king. The reception area was indeed palatial, ornated with Brazilian mahogany furniture and crystal chandeliers as gleaming italian marble abounded on the floor and walls, making it an imposing space.

Drawing so much attention of many people as possible, the group reached the elevator, stepped in and headed to the 38th store – the presidential penthouse. Once there, they were welcomed by a beautiful blonde whose provocative outfit left little to the imagination. She led only Oswald to a private room and addressed to a man silhouetted against the window.

"Leave us alone," the man demanded in his native tongue. As soon as the gal left he turned to Oswald, his voice had a strong Eastern European accent, "Please, have a seat Mr. Cobblepot. May I offer you something to drink?"

"I am fine. Thank you," Oswald replied as he took a seat in front of the large desk table and studied the environment around. "You've built quite a reputation."

"And you should have stayed overseas."

Oswald narrowed his eyes. "My dear Chechen, I didn't come here to fight. I'm sure there's plenty of market for our goods."

"Are we to be friends, then?" the man who was called The Chechen said with a hint of mockery.

"We are allies, my dear. Which can be a good deal more effective," Cobblepot answered with a level of assurance beyond what he really believed.

"How do I thrust a man that I've never met with my money?" the other man asked bluntly.

Oswald smirked. "Our friend in common must have told you that I provided reliable material for a fair price for many other freedom fighters over the years."

"I'm not a freedom fighter from a godforsaken impoverished nation Mr. Cobblepot. I'm a businessman whose only wish is to succeed in my dealings, just like you. Around ten years ago, my brother died in the hands of a _freachk _and I had to run away before the PD and the DA came into my heels. Now I have a chance to make things right. And with your help I might."

"Very well. But be aware that Gotham only demands one thing of its people. To be truly awake."

"Is that a threat?"

Oswald shrugged. "Threat is a strong word."

"And yet it happens to be the word I used."

Grinning, Cobblepot replied, "Consider it as a piece of friendly advice."

The Chechen nodded solemnly and with a snap of his fingers three metal suitcases were placed on the table by his men. One of them opened the closest box, displaying the money.

"I'm sure that's enough for the time being."

Oswald made a signal to his bodyguards who then took the suitcases and moved off. "You will not regret doing business with me."

* * *

_**R. H. Kane Building, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

Reaching the 51th floor, the elevator chimed and its doors opened. Selina stepped out and headed down the hall. No sign of life until she got at the end of the corridor where there was a large door labeled "_Data Processing Office_". Before she could knock, it opened and a smiling man pulled her inside the room, closing the door behind them.

"You're late," he prompted.

"I've brought Chinese. Hope you like it," she said, handing him the package. She glanced around the huge office – all glass and steel. It was sparse place, although a single terminal was connected to a large mainframe, rows of hard drives on shelves on either side.

"My kind of girl," he replied happily and led her to an area next to the large windows. "Come, let's find a seat."

* * *

_**Container Park, Waterfront, Gotham City**_

The van slowly pulled in at the side of the road. Mitch Hawker and two other young men got out and crossed the road as the van left. On either side of the road there was an enormous container park. The containers were piled on top of each other like a giant baby's building blocks.

They entered a long corridor, the walls of the containers were rising and stretching in front of them.

"You guys arrived early to the party," a big older guy stepped out from the shadows. There were another one at his side.

One of the young men who just arrived returned the admonition by saying, "In fact we're right on time. Our other guests are who are late."

Everyone laughed except the big older guy, who only grinned slightly.

"Hey, guys, we have a smart ass among us." then turning to the bold young man he said, "Look, cupcake, advisers run no risk. So drop the attitude before nobody wants to work with you anymore, okay?"

The young man snorted and retorted, "Advice when most needed is least heeded."

"That's why I don't like working in a damn day care center," the big older guy said, turning to his pal. "These damn guys are so full of themselves."

"Then it's a good thing, gramps, that what you think doesn't mean oogatz to me!"

The big older guy's friend grabbed the arm of his fellow and advised, "Let it go Paulie. This speaking chimp is not worthy." The older man only nodded in response.

_This is going to be easy_, DJ mused.

Disguised by the darkness, the teenager – already in his suit, mask and hood – watched them from afar. Five men. Five armed men. And more yet to come, probably. He realized he needed to act – and fast, before the cavalry would arrive.

* * *

_**R. H. Kane Building, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

"So..." Selina began seductively, "How long you've been working here?"

"Almost five years. I started as an intern, and today I am already in a management position," Bryan Holland, an IT expert in his late twenties, answered sheepishly as he adjusted his glasses up to his nose.

They were sitting on the floor over a picnic blanket, lit only by the the skyscraper line beyond and the dim light provided by the surrounding machinery. It was a nice and romantic overview. However, for Selina, this was not a romantic encounter. It was work.

"Is that Wayne Tower right there?" she asked nonchalantly, pointing to the building opposite.

"Yep. And we have a splendid view of what it's called '_the vault_' floor."

"The vault floor?" she asked, not believing how lucky she was. Her instinct and assumptions were right.

"I have a friend who works there and she told me the 51th floor is the automated data processing center of the tower. Pretty much the heart of Wayne Enterprises, where all their secrets are kept encrypted and sealed from the public eye."

She arched her brows and looked inquiringly at Bryan. "She?"

He chuckled. "What? Are you jealous?"

Selina shrugged and bowed her head to one side, playing the '_ingenuous who looked indifferent yet was outrageous' _role. She thought if she was not a thief she could have been an actress. A good one, by the way.

"She's just a friend and you're far beyond beautiful than her," he assured fondly as he reached for her face and ran a thumb over her cheek.

Selina wondered for the millionth time how she had gotten roped into this but replied with a timid smile that soon faded as he grimaced and quickly stood up.

"I guess..." Bryan began sheepishly, "I need to go... you know... to the toilet. I'll be right back," he finished his sentence and practically ran off from the room.

"Sure," she muttered and a small beginning of a grin touched her lips. The smart droplets she had surreptitiously added to his drink were working right on time.

A soon as Bryan left, Selina changed her attitude. She got to her feet and checked her wristwatch, sighing. It was almost ten o'clock. Performing an operation of recognition as intricate as this was definitely not her style. But, she reminded herself, the end justified the means.

Once again she made sure that there were no security cameras spying on her and then pulled out her cat gloves and a small device from her bag. Next she dressed the gloves, produced retractable diamond cutters from her '_claws_' and began carving a small aperture in the large glass panel.

A suction cup adjusted to the palm of the glove allowed her to take out the piece of glass without breaking it. A sharp gust of wind came through the opening and she positioned the device – a mobile-like thermographic camera mix with a 3D real-time scan sonar – on it, taking extra care to not let it fall. Slowly moving the camera, Selina managed to map the 51th floor of Wayne Enterprises headquarters only ordinarily. It was not perfect, but it was enough to get by.

Once the work ended, Selina gathered all her gear, glancing once again at the camera. The Wayne Tech logo appeared on the side of the device and she chuckled before the irony of the situation.

Hiding everything in her bag except the small piece of glass, which she put back in its original place, Selina shifted uneasily at her seat. Should she stay and wait for the geek guy or should she go and let a note to him?

After a quick mental deliberation she finally chose the second option.

* * *

_**Container Park, Waterfront, Gotham City**_

_Attacking armed thugs head on is suicide. I need to disappear, pick them off silently, one by one,_ DJ mused as he sprinted silently between the shipping containers.

Reaching the top of one of them, he pondered his options for a fraction of a second and suddenly threw a smoke bomb to the floor, causing the thugs to panic and cough.

"Who the..." one of them trailed off.

"WTF? Cough, cough... Ugnn" the big older guy tried to speak but the words got caught in his throat.

The smoke made the thugs' eyes, nose and throat to smart. Two of them ran off – Mitch and his bold young fellow – while the others remained in the middle of the smokescreen.

The big older guy's pal pulled out a gun and fired at random until a pair of shuriken like objects came flying through the air and quickly locked his arm on his side trapping his hand. "My arm!"

Bearing his night vision goggles, DJ swooped down to the three thugs.

"It's him!" someone screamed. "Nghh!"

Without too much thought, DJ took them down. The sound of punches, kicks and smashed bones mingled with groans of pain. When he apparently knocked them all unconscious, he stepped back a bit in order to analyze the situation and to took the gun from the shooter's hand.

Out of sudden, Paulie bursted from the ground, smashing the pistol from DJ's hand and then smashing his back against the container's wall. The whole steel compartment shook with the force of the clash. He grabbed the pistol and point it at DJ's face, who snatched it quick. The goon snatched it back and DJ smacked it out of his hand.

Growling and entirely beside himself, DJ lunged at the big guy, seeming to intent to hurt him more than ever before. On the other side, Paulie slipped his hand into his jacket and grabbed a flint knife. He sliced DJ's forearm and spun him around until he had the tip digging into the side of his neck. They both were breathing heavy.

_Damn it!_

"Gotcha!" the thug hissed, breathless and really pissed. But before he could move on, DJ managed to grab his hand and twisted it to the point the big guy let out a scream as he finally dropped the knife.

"Aghh!"

At the same time, DJ took advantage of the moment and threw his head back, hitting Paulie full in the face with the back of his head, putting him on the ground beside the other goons.

He pulled away from the pile of beaten men to regain his breath, panting and gasping for as much air as he could fit into his tired lungs.

* * *

_**Gotham Caesar's Hotel Restaurant, Midtown, Gotham City**_

Dimitri Antonovich and Oswald Cobblepot were sitting at an elegant restaurant table enjoying the end of their meal. Their ladies had dismissed the dessert course and sailed off to the restroom to touch up their makeup and chatting.

"How did everything go with our '_special friend'_?"

Oswald snorted awkwardly and answered, "So far so good. He's not an easy man."

Dimitri smiled at the indignation in the other man's voice. "Many people would say the same of you, _drug moy_(1)."

"Well, he's about to find out that I'm not to be trifled with."

"And come to think of it, neither does he."

"The Penguin flies ever alone," Ozzy began anxiously, "and this guy... This guy wants to take advantage of the delicate situation I'm facing. And thanks to his stupidity he can ruin everything."

Dimitri squirmed in his seat and spoke in a lower tone. "Easy, _drug moy_. You shouldn't brood over such things. Don't take any hasty decision. You should consider your campaign. I heard the numbers are on your side."

Oswald sighed. Between running his nightclub and campaigning with special interest groups, coordinating his criminal operations was making his life a real juggling act. But he had not gone so far to give up right now because some idiot mobster wanted a slice of the cake.

"Yes," he drawled and took a sip of a sweet, dark red liqueur, eyes focused nowhere in the distance. "It's just the beginning. Things are about to change in this town. Radically. In few months, my vision of what this city should be will be complete."

"You just spoke like a true winner. Just be careful with all those masked weirdos and the media crows around."

"They pose no threat to me, Dimitri."

As soon as Cobblepot finished his line, the women approached the table smiling and giggling.

"Why did you take too long? I thought I'd have to go after you," Antonovich complained humorously.

Veronica Vreeland pouted seductively. "Oh, Dimi. Don't be such a wet blanket!"

"What's the big deal about spending some time beautifying ourselves?" Sophia Starr asked, feigning innocence.

Known as '_a beauteous queen of Gotham society_', Sophia was a widow of considerable wealth, whose late husband had been a tycoon of the oil sector. When they had first married he had been old enough to be her father and the gorgeous blonde from Texas had been labeled as a trophy wife who had managed to be an interloper among the city's elite.

Like her, Cobblepot knew what it was to be an outcast between the old money aristocracy even being a wealthy person.

"No big deal, my darling lark," Oswald told her as he took her hand and kissed it. "Dimitri is just fed up with our man talk."

"Man talk, huh?" Vreeland asked a little bit suspicious. "I hope your guys' secrets doesn't refer to any other woman."

The men laughed almost instantly and Oswald remarked, "I have no secrets, my darling. My life is an open book... With some missing pages I must emphasize."

The silly half-joke sparked some laughs as Oswald smiled to himself. He had lots of secrets. Some of them he had buried deep enough to ensure it would never see the light of the day.

However the occasion was interrupted by the bip of his mobile phone. He checked the message and frowned then excused himself. "I'm afraid I have to go."

Three pair of disappointed eyes flashed him and he got a bunch of ohhs and ahhs in response. He looked at Sophia. "My darling, I'll leave you in the more-than-pleasant company of the Antonovichs." He then raised his hand in a signal to the waiter, who hurried over. "We'll have our check please."

"Of course, sir."

"Hey, hey, it's on my dime," Dimitri interjected.

"Thanks, my friend. Would mind to take Miss Starr to her home safely?"

"Of course not."

Cobblepot nodded and left in a hurry.

* * *

_**Container Park, Waterfront, Gotham City**_

"We need to get out of here!" the bold young thug advised Mitch Hawker as they ran between the containers.

"He's gonna get us!" Hawker replied in despair. His red converse was slapping the hard tarmac as he raced around like a headless chicken.

Suddenly, Garcia – the bold young man – stopped cold and glanced at the other side of the park. "Is he still in there?"

"I don't know. I can't hear or see anything in there. Let's keep going, man. I don't wanna go head to head with Batman."

"Do you think it's him?"

"Don't be stupid. Of course it's him."

"Thought the guy was dead. Or at least, he would have to be old..." Garcia's voice trailed off when a noise echoed and he instantly rushed out saying, "Go, go, go!"

They split apart and he slipped down a side corridor as Mitch went ahead.

Moving, ghostlike, through the dark corridors, DJ's silhouette crossed the adjacent intersection. Feeling trapped, Mitch pulled a gun from his back pocket and walked toward the corner where he last saw the vestige of a floating cape. "Stay back! Or I'll shoot you!" he barked.

"Not advisable," the masked vigilante stated on top of the container positioned behind Mitch's back and swooped down upon his old friend. The gun landed away from both of them.

As Mitch tried to recover to a defensive posture, gasping for air, DJ offered in a tone much graver than usual, "You don't need and don't really want to do this. Why screw everything up?" The darkness prevented him to be recognized.

"Who are you? A good samaritan?" Mitch asked and then took one quick step toward DJ and threw a big right hook that DJ easily blocked and countered by hitting Mitch's nose with his elbow.

"Hakk!" Mitch went to his knees, putting both hands to his face, covering his bloodstained nose.

"Things doesn't have to be this way," DJ tried one more time.

Angry and pained, Mitch turned to him, "Hell it's not!" And then he stood up and threw another right, which DJ sidestepped and responded with a straight jab to the already-damaged nose. The blow seemed to knock Mitch down, sending him straight to the ground.

"Sorry my friend," DJ whispered and turned away, aiming to find the last thug without being noticed.

Out of sudden, a strong bright light focused on him, temporarily blinding and disorienting him as a bunch of very armed men appeared in front of him. At least a half dozen.

Thug Number One announced, "Heh. Well, look at this guy."

"Hey, Bat-boy, I hear Penguin's put a price on your head. I'm cashing you in," Thug Number Two said, grinning.

With no way out and cursing his lack of options, DJ threw another set of smoking bombs and then run away as fast as he could.

"What's he...?" thug Number Three asked in the midst of strong smoke.

"Making our day," thug Number Two answered, any semblance of a smirk was now gone as the smoke was stinging his lungs.

"Damn right," thug number One agreed angrily and yelled, "Everyone! Go after him. Now!"

Thug Number Four flanked to the far side and Number Five followed the masked teenager up the middle. All of them gun-toting.

Meanwhile containers swung from cranes, blocking the light and throwing DJ in and out of dark shadows.

"Batman! Can you hear me?!" thug Number Two shouted, gun in hand. "Show yourself. I promise it's gonna be fun. Not for you, of course."

DJ tried to slip down another alleyway but thug Number Three was there with a knife in hand.

"Slice 'n dice," he sang. "Don't move. It's cleaner that way."

DJ fought him off and escaped, disappearing. The other thugs converged to the point Number Three was laying down unconscious. Number One made a signal to them split apart to search for the hooded guy.

Then feet beet atop the containers like tin drums and DJ leapt over Number Two's head. He sped over the vast field of containers and leapt the gaps with ease as a burst of bullets came to his side.

He dropped back down into the corridors, turned around and saw Number Four and Number Five coming at each far end of the corridor toward him.

"Oh, oh, looks like you're in trouble now, boy," Number Five said tauntingly as DJ stood motionless.

"Checkmate, masked freak," Number Four proudly stated as both thugs pointed their guns at DJ.

Suddenly the noise of helicopters filled the air and several flashes of aerial searchlights were shining down at them. The voice of a SWAT team leader commanded over a high speaker, "Police! Don't move!"

More voices and the sound of barking dogs. "Drop the gun down!"

Taking advantage of the sudden moment of distraction, DJ ran at Number Four, leapt, kick his gun and snapped two fists into his throat. Number Five came toward them, firing, but DJ used Number Four as a shield and darted out a shuriken at Number Five's hand, making him to lose the gun.

Tossing Number Four's injured body to one side, DJ turned around the corner and sprinted full tilt, out of the sight of the police and out of of reach of the the bad guys. Panting, he left the container park behind and stepped into a scrap metal yard. Mountains of waste were raising at either side of him.

"Freeze!" a male voice emerged behind him. "Hands up."

DJ glanced around as he raised his both hands in surrender. He then took a step forward, reaching the edge of an industrial canal where the scrap metal was unloaded. A large industrial barge was chugging towards him, only a few hundred meters.

"Turn around. Now," the other man demanded.

He finally spun around to face his captor. It was Garcia. The guy was an undercover police officer posing as one of the Penguin's goons.

"Come quietly!" he yelled, leveling his Smith & Wesson.

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

"Then I'm afraid you will be going to jail. One way or another," the young cop threatened.

"Does it now?" Saying that, DJ reached the edge quick and jumped into the water.

Astonished, Garcia fired at least three times and then ran at edge of the canal. There was no sign of the hooded guy.

* * *

_**Gotham Caesar's Hotel Bar, Midtown, Gotham City**_

"Why did you take so long, Mr. C?" Russell Waters questioned dully as soon as Oswald got closer to him. He was uncomfortable sitting in that bar stool for a time that seemed an eternity. In the twenty minute interval between his text to his boss and the apparition of him, lots of things had happened.

"Well, at least I can always be on time tomorrow, but you'll be stupid forever," Oswald retorted wryly. "It took me some time to mislead my guests and the staff." Not that he had the need to explain himself, but he did it anyway.

Russell hesitated for a moment. "I have good and bad news."

"Spit it out," Cobblepot ordered.

"The Russian vulture got his wings clipped. Clean service," he whispered.

"Great. And?"

Russell took a breath and continued. "We had a situation at the waterfront. Police showed up..." he trailed off, uncertain if he must go on when he saw Cobblepot's face getting red in visible anger. "The Batman..."

Oswald cut him off, "Batman? This freak is dead and buried under the deep blue sea."

"They say he's immortal or that's more than one," Russell chimed reverently.

His boss gave a short laugh in a clear signal of disbelief. "Drop this shit, okay?" He then looked at the ceiling and begged, "Why can't this masked clown get a day job, huh?"

Russell gulped and remained silent, so Oswald stared at him. "I mean, it had to be him, boss. It couldn't be anybody else."

Oswald inhaled sharply. "It's just an idle individual in a costume. A copycat looking for trouble. There's nothing supernatural in this. What about the shipment?"

"Forfeit."

"Lame! The men?"

"All arrested. I'm sorry, boss..."

"Russell... Would you kindly … get out of my face?"

Scared and outraged, the henchman stood up and headed for the exit.

* * *

(1) _Drug moy_ = My friend


	26. 25 Suspicious

_Warning! This chapter contains a little bit of mild language. Please, don't forget to post a review or make a __suggestion__. Again, thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. _

* * *

**XXV - Suspicious**

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

Having allowed himself a break of his patrolling activities last night in order to patch himself up and make some computer research, Bruce woke up early in the morning. After a sweaty training session in the cave, he took a shower and headed to the breakfast room, where a hearty meal was waiting for him, along with a stack of Sunday newspapers and weekly magazines.

Yeah, despite all his financial resources and the latest technology surrounding him, Wayne was an old-fashioned guy who still liked to read magazines and newspapers in paper form.

As usual, a television in the corner was tuned to a newscast and turned very low. He sat on the table and grabbed a warm croissant off the plate in front of him. His eyes scanned the cover of the magazines and he stopped as the cover story of one of them got his attention. His handsome face was impressed on it. He read the headlines.

**WHAT NOW?**

_**Risen from the dead, could this man lead a five generations multinational company into a new era?**_

He sighed. This was no good. If the press began to raise suspicions about his leadership abilities and his company's future, investors would be afraid of setting up new projects or expanding existing ones.

Alfred entered the room, carrying a pot of fresh coffee and interrupting Wayne's tumultuous thoughts. "Good morning, Master Bruce. Black coffee?"

"Good morning, Alfred. Yes, please," he replied politely as he spread some jelly on his croissant.

"Any special plan for today that requires my assistance, sir?"

"No, but thanks anyway. Damian is going to..."

Bruce's voice trailed off as something on the television caught his attention. The image of Mikhail Nurkadilov – nicknamed The Chechen II or The Younger Chechen – was being shown at television with a phrase splashed across the bottom of the screen:

**SUPPOSED MAFIA BOSS FOUND DEAD IN LUXURY HOTEL ROOM. **

Bruce picked up a remote and raised the volume. The image changed to a new and more disturbing headline.

"_Last night, in a spectacular action of the GCPD, about ten men were arrested at the Waterfront accused of belonging to a trafficking network that smuggled the equivalent to more than 20 million dollars in drugs and guns over the last weeks. Police reports says those men belong to a gang whose head is known as The Penguin._"

The anchorwoman called a reporter who filled the details of the police operation. "_Apparently Batman was seen there. No one really knows if it was really him or someone else who was inspired by him. The thing is the man vanished like a ghost after beating out some bad guys and Commissioner James Gordon refused vehemently to make any comment about it."_

"_Thanks, Sonya_," the anchorwoman came back to the audience view. "_Does Batman returned from the dead? Or that's somebody else, huh? What you think? Enter our website and answer the poll..._"

At this point, Bruce was not paying attention to the smiling journalist anymore and only one fact remained hammering in his mind. There was somebody out there risking his life. Could be...?

_No! I warned him. I made him promise me he won't go out there without my permission._

Alfred smirked. "You once said you yearned for inspiring people to do good. Congratulations, sir. You did it. There's another masked vigilante putting his life on the line."

Bruce remained silent, brow furrowed into a disgruntled expression, his eyes focused on the screen in front of him. His throat was dry and his stomach suddenly started to hurt. _This is crazy! _He shook his head, fighting back nerves. He had control of the situation.

Without saying a single word, he pushed his chair back and trudged toward the nearest phone. He dialed a number he knew by heart and waited agog for an answer from the other end of the line.

* * *

_**Miranda Tate's house, Irving Grove, Gotham City**_

Miranda had just finished her breakfast and was about to feed Titus when the landline rang. She stroke the dog's head, urging him to remain quiet while she answered the phone.

"Tate."

"Miranda..." Bruce paused for a moment that seemed like forever. "Uh-oh, hi."

Miranda blinked, suddenly surprised and excited as her heart skipped a beat. She successfully had avoided Bruce for almost three days but she knew she eventually would have to face him, to talk to him and to work with him.

"Good morning, Bruce. How have you been?" Her voice sounded cold yet polite, with a steady firmness that was far beyond reality. She had learned a long time ago to keep her emotions in check.

At the other end of the line, Bruce frowned even further at her formality. He did not want or like this.

"I've had better days," he grunted the words with a hint of rage and frustration.

"Is there anything I may assist you with?"

Sighing, Bruce asked himself why she insisted to act as if there was a stick up her ass. "Is Damian there?"

Miranda could tell by the tone he used he was upset. "He's out. Field trip."

"To where? When? With whom?" He spat the words harshly without second thought.

"Please calm down!" she retorted but did not yell at him. She realized for sure that he was clearly distraught and feared that initiating an argument would only making things very much worse.

With a shake of his head he spoke again, this time in a gentler tone, "I'm sorry. I just need to know where he is."

"He went to a excursion to Metropolis early this morning with his classmates and is gonna coming back by late night," she explained, finding odd how exasperated he sounded.

"And what is this trip about?"

"There's an International Technology and Technological Innovations Fair held by LuthorCorp. They are going to observe several prototype inventions and..." Her voice trailed off weakly as she heard him huffing out loud. "What the hell is going on, Bruce?"

"Nothing is going on. What's the big deal about wanting to know where my son is?"

"You tell me. It's you who is making a fuss around nothing," she shot back.

Bruce took a deep breath, closed his eyes and forced himself to stay calm. "Sorry again. I really need to talk to him and he's not picking up his cell phone or returning my calls."

Miranda smiled slightly. He seemed really worried about their son. Just like a normal parent. "He's fine, Bruce. Believe me." Her voice was soothing and reassuring and he felt a little bit calm and relaxed right away.

Nevertheless the sensation of doubt kept stinging through his head. "How can you be so sure of that?"

"Call it... mother's intuition."

"Well, do you happen to know where he was last night?"

_Oh, no! Not this Spanish Inquisition crap again_, she mused.

"He stayed at home. Got to his room early to do only God knows what a boy of his age does. And by the time I got back home he was already asleep," she answered, clearly annoyed.

A pause then Bruce asked gravely, "Did you go out last night?"

This time, Miranda bit her bottom lip and glanced down at Titus who was sniffing around her. Was he jealous? It took her a moment to compose herself and then she hissed. "Yep." No more further explanations.

"Are you sure he stayed home for the whole time you were out?"

Now he got her full attention. Sensing his apprehension, Miranda tried to sound as reasonable as possible. "Now you're scaring me. Is something the matter, Bruce? Don't tell me you suspect the kid is doing something wrong."

"What would possibly give you that idea?" he questioned defensively.

"Sounds pretty obvious to me. There's something bothering you. Something regarding Damian. Are you going to tell me or I'm going to force it out of you?"

Bruce ran his hands through his hair and expelled the air out of his lungs wearily. Finally, he spoke, but his voice cracked with emotion. "Never mind. It's not important. Guess I'm just overreacting. That's all. I didn't mean to sound bossy,"

He left the question hang, something he always did since they had first met, and that was so frustrating. However Miranda immediately felt sorry for him. She heard the hurt in his voice as if he was very tired and sad. "The first chance I get, I'll tell him to get in touch with you."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Have a good day, Bruce. Take care of yourself."

"Okay. You too," he spoke above a whisper.

Miranda hung up the phone and leaned against the wall. Titus looked at her with keen eyes and barked as if he was asking, "What happened?"

Smiling weakly at the dog, she crouched next to him and caressed him gently. "I don't know, _mon chère(1). _I'm only too sure it's not a good thing."

* * *

_**Interrogation Room, GCPD, Downtown, Gotham City**_

Detective Crispus Allen looked at Lieutenant Sarah Essen and waved the file folder he had in his hand before he pushed open the interrogation room door. Essen nodded and they both entered the room as Oswald Cobblepot bolted straight up in the chair, his hands folded in front of him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Cobblepot. I'm Detective Allen and this is Lieutenant Essen," Allen introduced himself and his partner as he took his seat across from the entrepreneur at the table. Essen stood in an opposite corner of the room, just watching.

"Enchanted," Oswald replied, studying Essen's form with an appreciative look from head to feet. The beginning of a smile crossed his lips.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Allen asked him. "Water, soft drink, coffee?"

"No. No thank you." Oswald's voice strained for composure. "Why am I here? Is this a party or something like that?" he asked without trying to hide his so obvious disdain for being there.

Allen blinked and Essen just stared at Cobblepot. Hard to say what she was thinking, but she was thinking something.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Let's put all formalities aside and get straight to the point, okay? Why am I here?" he demanded again, leaning forward on the desk table. "I didn't do anything, so why you officers got me here?"

Allen looked straight into his eyes. "I want to ask you some questions about the events of last night and I want you think very carefully before you answer them."

"Should I call my lawyer? I have rights, you know? If it has to do with something that took place in my club, I can't control everything my clients do there."

Essen drew a breath and Allen explained, "We're investigating the death of a man called Mikhail Nurkadilov. He was found dead in his bed in a hotel room by his employees this morning. His death may have been suicide, or just an accidental overdose involving sleeping pills. Still, we have every reason to believe he might have been drugged on purpose."

"I don't understand the connection. So, I'll ask you again Detective, why am I here?" He did not seem frightened or anxious.

Essen took a step forward. "He was at the same hotel you were seen last night. Hosted on the same floor you and your bodyguards army were seen last night. All we want you to do is that you answer a couple of questions."

"Still apples and oranges," Oswald replied shortly as he crossed his arms around his chest and leaned against the chair back lazily.

Ignoring his words, Allen hit the button of a digital record. "For the record, state your full name, address, and age."

Cobblepot smiled, regarding the other man a beat. "My name is Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot and I live on 58 Dixon Street, Lyntown. I'm forty-eight years old with the energy of a twenty-five man." He smirked, glancing at Essen while he added the last words. The beautiful Lieutenant rolled her eyes and went back to the corner of the room.

"Where you were last night?" Allen continued.

"I believe you already know the answer."

"Mr. Cobblepot if you don't cooperate..."

"Then what?" Oswald cut him off. "For God's sake. I'm running for mayor of this city. I do not deserve to be treated like this. In fact, no citizen of this town deserve to be treated like this. So, an addict with an extensive rap sheet pushed himself too far and now every single person who might be crossed his path is a potential killer."

Allen stared at him, suddenly aware of something. "We haven't mentioned he has _an extensive rap sheet_."

"No need to. The Chechen went to The Iceberg two or three times. The rumours spread fast and soon came to my ears."

"So, did you know him?"

"Yes. By sight."

"Did you saw him last night?" Allen asked him.

"No."

"When was the last time you saw him and where?"

Before the other man could say anything else, the door was opened in a flash and a middle aged man followed by a young officer stepped inside the interrogation room.

"Don't say anything else, Oswald," the middle aged man requested and then turned to the cops, "Sorry to spoil things, officers, but this shit is over. My client won't answer anymore questions without an official order. Come on, Oswald."

"Hey, you can't get in here this way," Essen stated angrily.

"Easy, Sarah," Allen cautioned as he made a stop signal with his hand.

"You judge yourself too smart, don't you? You and your partner better know the legal procedures before heading out interrogating decent people. My client was called to testify without the presence of a lawyer."

"It was just an informal interrogation," Allen said.

Grinning, Cobblepot rose from his seat and was about to leave when he turned to the cops. "In this case, I am not required to stay here. Just so you know Detective, I was having some fun with Miss Sophia Starr at the hotel before we joined a couple of friends to share a meal."

"Oswald," his lawyer urged. "Come on."

That said, both men stepped outside the room while a uniformed officer got ready to escort them out of the district building.

Back in the room, Crispus bowed his head as he picked the file up from the table. "You can tell me now I've told you so."

"I've told you so, Allen. I know red tape sucks but you should have followed the rules. Thanks to your hard head we may have just let slip an important witness of this case."

"Hey. No risk, no gain. We've failed to obtain too much info from Cobblepot, but the little he provided was enough to show us he's up to date with his surroundings. His nightclub is the most popular place in town and is often frequented by high-spending customers and even underworld operatives. Probably, the Penguin had already attended one of those tables. And Cobblepot knows him."

"How can you be so sure?

"Call it my detective sense."

"Detective sense, huh?" Essen teased him. "And that same sense of yours is saying that the Penguin has a hand on the Chechen's death, isn't it?"

Allen smiled slightly. "I have a hunch that Nurkadilov's death is related to some kind of turf war. He was trying to gain the same space his brother had in the past and must have poked the bear – I mean the Penguin. The guy then decided to eliminate him."

Essen shrugged. "Detective sense my ass. I think you know something I do not know."

Allen chuckled. "Watch your mouth, Lieutenant, and just think with me. If I were a cock-a-doodle-doo with a bad temper and another rooster would come pecking on my yard, what would I do?"

Grinning, Essen gave him an understanding look but remained silent.

"Yeah, you've got it, Lieutenant."

* * *

(1) _**Mon chère**_ = my dear


	27. 26 A Wicked Deceit - Pt 1

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. I really would like to have more time to dedicate to writing this fic, but my life is really hectic at the moment, and I've barely had time to breathe. All I ask of you readers is to have a little patience and don't give up on this story. Keep following, posting reviews and making suggestions. Every time I read a new review I feel myself encouraged to continue writing. So don't forget to post some few words after reading this chapter._

_By the way, Rachel McAdams is Vicki Vale's face claim._

* * *

**XXVI - A Wicked Deceit - Part 1**

_**Wayne Enterprises Tower, Central Business District, Gotham City**_

When morning dawned, another day of work was awaiting for Bruce Wayne in his office. His first main meeting was with Dr. Sanjay Gupta – an expert in Applied Physics in his early thirties. Gupta and his team's research led to the development of a new metamaterial with a negative refractive index, which got Wayne's eye. He envisioned many opportunities and potential applications which might be exploited with using this new metamaterial.

After convincing the scientist that Wayne Enterprises could offer the fairer, more ethical and advantageous deal, Bruce walked down the conference room alongside Dr. Gupta.

When they reached the doorway, Jessica Hodson – Wayne's secretary – approached them. "Mr. Wayne? Your 10:15 is here."

"Are you sure, Jessica? I thought my schedule was clear."

"It's a surprise to me, too."

"Excuse me Sanjay. I'll be in touch," he said, turning first to the scientist and then to his secretary, "Please, Jessica, lead Dr. Gupta to the cafeteria and hold my calls."

Bruce waved and walked toward his office, only to find there a very attractive blonde female leaned on the corner of his desk, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Your pictures don't do justice to you, Mr Wayne," she quipped as soon as he entered the room.

For Vicki Vale, Bruce Wayne was indeed anything but a meek, by-the-book prince. At a little under six feet tall, with a powerful physique and thick dark brown hair that was only just starting to turn silver at the temples, he was a very attractive man.

He stepped farther with a speculative look on his face. "Sorry, but do we know each other?"

"I've been trying to get in touch with you, Mr. Wayne."

"I'm at disadvantage here. I'm afraid we were not introduced properly, Miss...?" he enquired coldly, not liking a bit how this woman was taking him out of his comfort level with only her gaze.

"Vale. Vicki Vale," she answered and offered her hand.

He narrowed his eyes and took her hand politely. "Your name sounds vaguely familiar. You're a blogger or something like that, aren't you?"

Of course he was aware of who she was. Her name and fame was not strange to him, yet he chose to pretend he did not know her at all.

Vicki Vale got her start as war correspondent at the Daily Planet in Metropolis, where she quickly rose to fame for her incredible stories from the front. Few years ago she moved to Gotham City to take up the role of the leading investigative reporter of the Gotham City Gazette.

"Actually, I'm a Gotham Gazette reporter and stringer of many others news media."

Bruce pulled away, crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay. So to what do I owe the honor of your presence, Miss Vale?"

"Vicki, please," she corrected, letting her arms slip to her sides. "My readers want answers, Mr. Wayne."

He offered one of his trademark magnetic smiles. "And what might be their questions, Vicki?"

She pulled out her phone and turned on the audio recorder on it.

"They'd like to know who Gotham's favorite son really is. How a billionaire playboy plays so hard and yet has perfect balance of his business affairs? Where had you been for seven years ago before coming back to Gotham? How did you manage to keep a huge secret like the existence of your son for sixteen years? And why you'd turned yourself into a cross between Howard Hughes and Charles Foster Kane for more than five years, and then suddenly returned to the spotlight only to vanish again? They want to know how did you come back from the dead twice."

Vale paused her verbiage for a second and stepped closer to him, adding with a mischievous grin, "And they demanded to know what's your connection with Batman?"

"Wow!" Caught off guard by her outpouring, Bruce stepped back and ran his fingers through his hair, noticeably confused. "Now just hold on a second, ma'am. That's too much. I can barely remember every question you've asked."

She planted her hands on her hips. "My surprise visit really has your head spinning doesn't it, Mr. Wayne? So I'll only ask you a leading question. What's your connection with Batman?"

He stared at her for a moment before pressing his lips together, trying not to smile. The situation was suddenly very funny, although dangerous. "I'm sorry. I just don't understand the connection. Batman? Don't know what he has to do with me."

She shrugged. It was hard to imagine that this man in his expensive smart city suit was just playing dumb with her. "A lot apparently. The same time that Batman showed up coincided with your return to Gotham. The same time he disappeared is also the same time you became a shut-in. Then he returned to Gotham's scenario after eight years and, so did you. And now he's back again, risen from the death. And look at that, you do too."

He giggled in an almost boyish demeanor. "So do you believe I am Batman?"

Though this was not Vale's exact belief she played along. "Are you?" she shot back.

"Only when it suits me," he retorted, clearly joking. Keeping a smile plastered on his face, he added with a gust of disdain, "How did you come up with this crap?"

"I have a gut feeling that you and your company may have a hand on creating a masked vigilante. And I've done my research, of course."

"Are you sure you don't mean '_investigation_'?" he encouraged, in an attempt to find out where this was going. His inner voice was saying this woman was bluffing. She was trying to fish for some answers and he had to watch himself out on the track, making sure not to take the bait.

She nodded slightly. "I'd say there are also plenty of instances to make the connection if tenacious and skilled enough. Take the case of Mr. Coleman Reese. Years ago, he was an employee at Wayne Enterprises who claimed in nationwide chain he knew who Batman was. Soon afterwards he was sent to a subsidiary of the company in Australia. Does it ring a bell?"

"If I recall correctly, Mr. Reese had his life threatened here in Gotham. The company helped him to move with his family in order to keep them safe." Bruce paused for second before adding calmly, "Do you have some notion of the nonsense you're talking about."

A faint smile touched his mouth and the movement distracted her. The distraction wore off fast, ignoring his words she kept going. "I've always wondered how does a man like Batman afford to constantly update his crime-fighting technology? Where does his money come from? Well, I think the answer is in front of me."

She allowed herself a triumphant smile as she watched his struggle to keep himself '_cold and unreachable as the top of a high mountain_' reaching close the point of going down the plughole.

He chuckled dryly. "So, now you're giving me the full responsibility for keeping the caped crusader financed to fight crime? Are you insane?"

"So this is just a coincidence?" she asked sarcastically.

After many years of searching for answers, Vicki Vale strongly believed that Wayne and his minions in suits were the men behind the Batman. However, it had never occurred to her that the mysterious man in front of her might be the Dark Knight. Frankly, Batman was not a man born into privilege and Wayne was just an eccentric and complex billionaire who did not know what to do with so much money.

"You people stop at nothing, do you?" This time he sounded hostile, apparently on the edge of fury, and Vale blinked, taken aback. "I have no clue what you're saying and I'm tired of the horror-show picture the papers keep printing of me. So if you have nothing useful to do right now, I do."

She gasped as he grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, leading her to the exit. His dark hazel eyes hard as stone.

"Excuse me? I'm doing my job." She was ready for battle, but it was not easy doing battle with a really quite irate and stunning opponent.

"I'm gonna call security," he snapped while she tried to jerk her arm from his grasp and her grimace said he was hurting her. _Damn it._ He released his grip and clamped a vice down on his temper. "Please, Miss Vale..."

But she cut him off, "What about the camouflaged vehicles Bane and his goons drove around the city last fall? They resembled a lot the black one Batman used to run over patrol cars. Word is Bane had stolen that vehicles from Wayne Enterprises."

He frowned. Clearly, she had touched a nerve.

"So I would suggest that your source is misinformed."

"Look, Mr. Wayne, I'm not stupid and I believe you too. If you don't give your side of the story, I'll have no choice but to frame it based on the info I have," she argued.

He shrugged. "Something tells me it's going to get out anyway, so why waste my time, indeed?"

"Because I think there's more to you than you let on to everyone. I guess you're a man concerned about the future and well-being of this town and you're willing to do whatever it takes to protect Gotham."

"I'm not that selfless, Miss Vale."

"Vicki," she corrected again, placing a hand over his arm affectionately.

"Listen, I don't..." he began but before he could continue, a female voice interrupted him, making them to turn their heads.

"Bruce? Do you have a minute, can we talk?" Miranda asked before her gaze zeroed in on Vale's hand touching Bruce's arm. She stopped cold at the doorway.

_Saved by the bell, _he mused._  
_

"Miranda... This is certainly a surprise."

Tate took a step forward. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you, but I've checked your schedule this morning, and I thought you're free. Looks like a made a mistake." Her voice, soft and smooth, wound around his chest and tightened.

"No!" Bruce prompted, pulling away from the blonde reporter while blushing slightly, "Miss Vale here was about to leave, weren't you?" His gaze pinned back at Vicki whose eyes were suddenly shooting daggers at him.

"We're not done yet, Mr. Wayne," she said in a harsh whisper.

"I suppose not," he muttered back as he watched her waving and giving a slight nod to Miranda in the process. Vicki Vale was proving to be a real thorn on his side.

"Sorry for ruin your fun," Miranda blurted as soon as Vicki left.

"I was not having fun. Quite the contrary. She's just a journalist who happened to poke around my life and make me threats," he said defensively.

Miranda forced a rueful smile and adopted her most businesslike tone, while all the time the monster of jealousy was eating her from inside and a myriad of questions were pounding through her head. "You don't owe me an explanation."

Yeah. Bruce and his bimbo girls were not her problem, one part of her brain tried telling her. She had a meeting to chair and a serious financial discrepancy to deal with, plus a dozen or so other points of business to get through before the end of the workday. The only reason she decided to drop by his office was they needed to talk about Damian.

"But I believe we have some catching up to do."

Bruce was not fooled by her apparently relaxed pose or her deceptive mild tone. Judging from the cold, cynical glint in her eye, he realised she was wearing her mask of fake calm composure, something she had done quite a lot lately. Last time he saw her she was emotionally vulnerable, collapsing in tandem into a bout of uncontrollable sobbing. And now the Ice Princess was back and he figured he better get used to that.

"So why you stepped down from your ivory tower, princess?" It was his turn for sarcasm. "What can I do for you?"

She rolled her eyes and replied coolly, "I wanna know what led you to be suspicious about Damian. All those questions yesterday... Has he done something wrong?"

He noticed a hint of distress in her last words, and then he looked down at his feet and quickly slipped his hands into his pockets, unsure of what to say.

Miranda watched him as he remained mute, her anxiety was rising. Had she rendered him speechless? Were things really that tough? When he finally decided to face her, Miranda exhaled all the air she had held until then.

"There's another masked vigilante in town. I was worried it could be him at first but the more I think about it, more uncertain I get."

"I seriously doubt it. But did he give any indication that he would make it?"

"Well, short after I struck back he expressed his wish to join me," he confessed, eyeing her warily.

She inhaled sharply and paced the floor a couple of times, then she lifted her eyes and gazed at him. "The will to fight runs through his veins. I'm afraid this is something that we cannot fight against. It's his true nature. Besides he's just following in his father's footsteps."

In face of her statement Bruce raised his brows, his jaw pushed all the way forward with tension. And then, before he could answer her, she added, "Perhaps you should've considered that before you've decided to dress like a giant bat again."

He gave her an accusing glare. "Are you saying it's _my _fault?"

"I'm not talking about fault," she retorted softly, with compassion. For a fleeting second her eyes lost that cold, hostile stare and she once again looked like the innocent girl he had met many years ago. "I'm just saying our son takes us – mainly you – as a model role. From now on we should watch close our choices and actions to prevent many headaches in the future."

"That's not the point. The thing is I forbade him of going around fighting crime."

She stood staring at him, as if seeing him for the first time. "And since when this stopped that boy?"

He looked at Miranda with wariness in his dark eyes. Her way of speaking, so relaxed, mistook him as much as it frustrated him. She was accepting everything with an eerie calmness that was foreign to her.

"How can you truly accept all this without blinking?"

"Because I don't believe this new masked guy is Damian. But if he is, then we're going to deal with it. You have no need to worry about."

"_You have no need to worry about_? What sort of statement is this?" he snapped irritably. "He's just a damn kid."

"A kid who knows no fear," she threw back.

"You're supposed to be pulling out your hair with worry. Next thing you'll be anointing the boy a savior."

She gave a weary sigh. "If that's what you truly believe, then I'm afraid you don't know me at all. Get hysterical would get us nowhere. Young men with a thirst for justice need little encouragement. They need guidance. You, above all, should know the consequences of the life you choose."

Bruce stared at her with an embittered look, knowing she was right, even if it hurt like crazy to admit it. "So, what do you propose? I don't think giving him a chewing out will do any good."

"I'm going to have a talk with him as soon as I can and see if your allegations have any basis. Either way Damian is experiencing a period of major adjustments in his life and maybe this is the way he found to channelize his frustration. In your own words, '_you know how it's to be a sixteen years old. They change their minds every five minutes'._"

_Touché._

To her surprise, his lips quirked at one corner – as if he wanted to laugh, as if it was the first time anyone had ever spoken to him that way. But he quickly got over it and hardened his expression.

"Fine. I rest my case."

"I believe the impending reunion with his old friends from the Haley Circus will soothe whatever is going on with him and make things better for him."

Bruce raked his hair with his fingers. "About that... I just thought you might like to go with me. I mean, you, me and Damian could go to the show together. The three of us like a family," he said and scanned her face, looking for a positive reaction.

Miranda's heart raced faster. "I'm sorry. I already have things settled for the show night. And Damian is gonna hang out with his friends."

He darted a moody glance at her. "You're not going with Roman Sionis, are you? A playboy like him doesn't match with this kind of family program."

"Many people think the same about you."

Her comment drew another grimace. But no reply and Miranda continued with her goading.

"I enjoy his company. He's really sweet, Bruce, and that's a plus."

His jaw got rigid and he cooled rapidly at her sugary tone. Damn it, why was Miranda doing this with him? Why was she locking him out of her life? It made no sense. Not after all they had been through together. Hell, he wanted to sweep her up and lay her down and bring her back to her senses.

"I didn't realize my company was so bothersome for you. After all, until relatively recently you're running around after me."

"Now you know how it feels."

"So you've decided to give me a dose of my own medicine?" The question sounded more like a statement.

In truth, not a single day went by where Bruce did not regret what he had done. Miranda had the incredible ability of awakening skeletons in his closet, to lead him to question some decisions he had done in the past.

"I could tell you what it was like when I came to Gotham and you insisted to blow me away – just like you did before. But this is not about getting even, Bruce. I meant what I said the other day."

"You're really hung-up on that bullshit, ain't you?"

"I think we're done here," she said, turning on her heels, ready to leave.

Temper drained away from Bruce as if someone had pulled a plug. Hard to maintain anger when you were straddling a razor blade of desire and want.

"Wait," he asked as he came over and took her hands, holding them in the firm grasp of his. Immediately Miranda shoot him a look that told him exactly how she felt about having him pushing her that way. She did not say anything, just held her gaze on his eyes.

"Listen, I was hoping that we could have a normal talk sometime. Over a dinner, maybe. I thought we might try to bury the hatchet once and for all."

His tone and attitude spoke louder than his voice and she did not like them. He was making it very clear that he wanted to reopen old wounds, and she was not willing to do that again.

"Bruce, no disrespect, but it's not necessary. What happened between us has been dead and buried for quite some time. I've moved on. You should, too."

"Well, that's... What I'm trying to do. Trying to bury all ghouls from the past in the ground." He drew in a breath, holding it for a beat or two before releasing it. "Look, I'm not very good at this, but I want you to know that I'm willing to make a start fresh."

She stared down at her feet, unable to face him. "I promised myself that no matter what you said or did, I wasn't going to change my mind."

His face fell.

"All I'm asking is for you to give us a chance." Bruce would not give up. "Give me the chance to make it up to you."

And gamble on her heart again?

She lifted her grey-blue gaze. "Give me one reason why I should this."

"Because I deserve another chance. Because what we have is special enough to keep fighting for."

Miranda blinked. Common sense said no.

"I've been there before. I've felt the excitement, the hope – that warm feeling of belonging that comes when you think someone wants you to be with them. And when that went wrong, when I wasn't what they wanted me to be, I hurt so badly I promised myself that I wasn't going to let it happen again." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper as she remembered everyone who let her down. Her foster family, her own father, Bruce... All of them scorned her from their lives.

His chest expanded on a deep breath as he listened her continuing to speak. "I loved you and now I know you somehow loved me too. But you were afraid of that. You were not ready and wouldn't let anybody in. To be honest, I think you never will."

"Can't you see I can't get you out of my mind? I keep telling myself to stay away from you. That we are bad for each other. I know that. Only the temptation to come and find you here is eating away at me," he said slowly.

However, for Miranda, Bruce's words did not sound like affection or anything close to it. They sounded like addiction. And that was not enough or the right thing.

"I'm not the kind of woman you need."

She was slipping through his fingers. Again. And he did not know how to convince her that his feelings were real. Hell, they were so real they scared him to death. But how could he convince her?

"That's where you're wrong," he said softly with a warm smile. "You're exactly the woman I need."

She shook her head. "Things has changed."

Bruce intensified his focus to her, dark eyes burning into hers, making her feel uncomfortable. "If you believe things have changed that much, princess, we should test your theory."

Once he had finished speaking, he cupped her face, leaned in and pressed his lips to hers desperately. Her skin smooth, exquisite beneath his fingertips. He expected her to pull away, but she surprised him by gasping, lips parting, and he swept his tongue inside. Her taste... so sweet, just like he recalled so well. He caught a whiff of her fresh perfume and savored the moment.

The kiss was filled with his desire – his need – for her.

A sudden shock came to Miranda when Bruce pulled her into a tight embrace and kissed her. Her world stopped turning. She forgot about everything as his touch sent shivers down her spine. She did not want to fight against her feelings. She just want to let herself go.

But Bruce had hurt her. He had hurt her badly. Why would she risk that happening all over again? Why jeopardise everything with an emotional outburst when it was far better to play safe? Because a heartbroken parent did not make a good parent. She of all people knew that.

Then in a dreaded moment of realisation, her eyes flashed and she jerked away from his hold, glaring at him hotly, unshed tears gleaming in her eyes.

"I'll stand by my words. Once I gave you my heart and soul and you crushed it as if they were worth nothing. I won't let it happen again."

Bruce just watched as she turned and left the room. The expression in his eyes was dark, tormented as every single word she said ricocheted through him like a gunshot.


	28. 27 A Wicked Deceit - Pt 2

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. _  
_Sorry for the delay. These last few days have been a bit stressful. I've barely have time to dedicate time and energy to this fic. To top that it all off, temperatures dropped enormously and I've got a nasty coughing attack that I am still recovering from. Thank heaven things are getting a bit better now._  
_I'm really, really looking forward for more reviews, suggestions and followers. It encourages the author to continue writing and helps to improves the story. So, don't forget to post few words after reading.  
_

* * *

**XXVII - A Wicked Deceit - Part 2**

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

"Are you serious? You man actually live here!" one of Damian's classmates cried out as soon as the silver Honda pulled up in front of the high iron gates leading to Wayne Manor.

"Wow, awesome house!" another one chimed. "Can you guys imagine a party taking placing there?" he couldn't help but ask enthusiastically while getting a glimpse of the old property. "Hot chicks. Cool music. Open bar all night..."

Damian chuckled. "It's not the Playboy mansion, dude. It's a mausoleum."

"It's not the Playboy mansion, but it is the playboy's mansion," the driver – the only girl in the group – quipped with a smile on her face.

Damian grimaced. "You can drop me here," he announced sternly as he got his backpack. He still did not feel comfortable being the heir to the vast Wayne empire. It was like a travesty.

So he bid farewell to his friends and stepped off the car, waiting for it to leave. Only then he pressed a button on the intercom mounted next to the gate.

"Yes?" Alfred's tinlike voice replied from the box.

"It's me, Alfred."

"Oh, hold on a second, Master Damian."

As expected, the massive iron gates opened automatically just as the leaden Gotham sky opened, releasing a downpour. He had no umbrella or a raincoat, and even though the weather forecast had predicted a strong summer rain during the afternoon, the weather had been the last thing on his mind today.

After entering the grounds of the private estate, he managed to hold the backpack over his head in order to protect himself from the rain's drenching needles. Damian shivered, suddenly chilled to the marrow as he run through the driveway to the mansion. He saw Alfred waiting for him at the relative shelter of the portico.

"Good afternoon, Master Damian. I'm afraid a set of dry clothes are in order," the old butler said when the teenager reached the front door. His British accent managed to convey both serenity and alarm at the same time.

"Hi," Damian replied, sounding a bit upset. "I'll handle it, thanks."

He barely had crossed the entrance hall when his father's somber voice echoed through the walls, "You're late." His tone contrasted vividly with the warm welcome Alfred had provided.

Damian lifted his chin in open defiance and looked straight into Bruce's eyes. "My ride was delayed."

"Change your clothes. I'll be waiting for you in the cave," the older Wayne demanded, and without waiting for a reply he turned away impatiently, quitting the room. Despite his strict attitude and his imposing presence, Bruce was dressed casually in light sweatpants and an old Princeton T-shirt.

"Tt. That's went well," Damian said sarcastically. He also was not in good mood today, mainly because he hoped to have some time to speak personally with Tam Fox about some ideas he had about her project. But given the restricted time his father had highlighted to him, it was impossible.

Alfred shook his head apologetically. "With his mood today, I fear it doesn't get much better."

* * *

_**Cave beneath Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

Minutes later, father and son were having a sparring session on an open mat, wearing protective padding and using large padded sticks. Alfred was watching everything from afar, holding two gym towels.

"Now the trick is to keep your weight evenly distributed," Bruce said.

"I thought the trick was to avoid getting into fights," Damian replied.

They continued the dialogue between a strike and another. Bruce attacked and Damian responded: punches, kicks, blocks, jabs, chops – a smooth flurry of continual motion. Though the boy was remarkably skilled, Bruce feared he was not ready for that mission yet.

"Yeah, well, Gotham City's not the kind of place where you can talk your way out of trouble. But if you're going to be working with me, I'll sleep at least a little bit easier knowing that you can handle yourself... "

"But I can handle myself. I've proved it many times before," the kid whined, only to be knocked to the padded floor soon afterwards, after Bruce had delivered an unexpected strike. "Whoa!"

"Focus. This is not a dance, it's not a game."

"Yeah. So when do we get to do the fun stuff?" Damian asked while he got to his feet again.

On the other side of the room, Alfred rolled his eyes and allowed himself a small smile.

* * *

"Before you protect others... you must first be able to protect yourself," Bruce explained as he kept pacing around the boy whose eyes were protected by a tight blindfold. Moments earlier he gave Damian a pair of Eskrima sticks. The same one Fox had showed them at the bunker last winter.

Bruce himself was equipped identically.

"You have to render yourself invisible. You must have the ability to fight blind. To see, without seeing."

Suddenly he tested the boy by flashing forward one of his sticks, aiming at Damian's chest. Damian deflected the blow with his own Eskrima stick, however, he could not prevent the other one that came from behind, hitting his back. Grunting with pain, the kid fell to the floor.

Bruce looked down at him and said, "Mind your surroundings, always."

Damian managed to rise and prompted. "Again."

They fenced. Damian thrust and Bruce parried. They continued on that one-to-one game until both were gasping.

"You have to be more than just a man in the mind of your opponent. Criminals are a cowardly, superstitious lot," Bruce uttered another of Henri Ducard's – aka Râ's al Ghul – teachings.

Damian pulled back and took off his blindfold. "Tt. That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

* * *

Few minutes later they were standing over a table stocked with a variety of gadgets. Digital micro-camera, de-cel jumplines, gas capsules, bat-shurikens. Everything Batman may need in field.

Wayne picked up a grappling device and started to explain, "This is a grapnel gun. Calibrated to 350 pounds, 25 feet of high-tensile cable."

"Tell me something new," Damian replied nonchalantly.

Bruce shook his head but retained his severe features.

"You judge yourself too smart, don't you? Get over yourself! You still have spots on your face," he objected.

Deep down, he could not stop a surge of pure pride for his boy. Yet that was not supposed to be the type of conversation a father should have with his son. God, he would rather have a condom talk than teaching his son about combat skills.

"Look, _daddy_, age is no guarantee of efficiency, okay?" the young man retorted, smiling.

"And youth is no guarantee of innovation."

"Okay, man, point taken. May we change the subject?"

"Certainly, _son_." A skirm crossed Bruce's lips. "Now med-kit: it contains epinephrine auto-injectors, antibiotics and so on."

"You will need to teach me how to use them."

"And I will. But I think that's enough for today. Let's just take things one step at a time, shall we?" Bruce paused and turned sternly, "I feel like we should talk."

The kid sucked in a breath. His father knew what he had been done. But how? He had been ever so careful, ever so discreet. He knew there was nothing he could do about it, if that were the case. Nevertheless he tried his best to look at his father with a questioning glance.

"Something wrong?" he asked in practiced, even tones. Nothing in his manner suggesting he shared his father's apprehension.

Bruce could not believe the kid was really that relaxed, but if he was not, he thought, studying his stress-free, handsome young face, he was the world's best actor.

"There's another masked vigilante strolling through Gotham's rooftops," Bruce said with an expression that did not encourage the young man to believe he would be able to get away with it.

"I've heard about it through the media. Do you want me to keep an eye on it? Or get some information about him?" Damian asked a little too anxiously. "I still have some connections on the streets."

Bruce shook his head, feeling slightly more irritation than concern at this point. "Please, don't play coy with me, okay?"

Damian stiffened as his stomach sank. "I'm afraid I'm bit lost here." Then he paused for a split of a second, as if it really hit home for him. "Wait a sec. Are you meaning it's me, aren't you? How can you..." his voice trailed off.

Bruce watched the teen carefully as he spoke. "The description given by a cop is matching with your outfit and physical build."

"So what?" the boy snapped defensively. "It could be anybody else. Why can't you trust me?" He sounded really offended and hurt.

"You ignored my calls through a whole day! What am I supposed to think, huh?" Bruce threw back.

"I went to a trip with my classmates. I was busy taking notes for a project. I had spent the previous night doing some research on my computer." He stopped and paced the floor, head down, mouth set in a stubborn line, no doubt planning his next move. "Look, I'm doing what you asked me to do, okay?"

Bruce paused – trying to control his temper – and now the kid could only wait.

"I suppose your mother could confirm this if I asked her?

"If you feel like interrogating her about my whereabouts, I'm sure she would." His features conveyed an image of resentment which begin to turn into anger. "Oh, you've already done, haven't you?"

"Guilt," Bruce admitted flatly. "Anyway, it seems the case is closed for the time being."

Damian eyed him suspiciously, perhaps wondering if he was being set up. "What, just like that?"

Bruce stared at him straight in the eyes, a dark shadow covering his face. He had to admit that being a father was something relatively new for him, let alone a teenager's father. Most of the time he wondered if he was doing a decent work. Though he loved his son very much, he did not have years to establish a bond of affection and trust of the same level most parents should have.

Even without much experience he knew it was a delicate line – the one between wrapping your children up in cotton wool and letting them run around oblivious to the dangers that lurked for the unsuspecting.

Like every other parent he wanted to keep his child safe. On the other hand, he was conscious that there was also a danger that an overprotective parent could stifle any sense of adventure in a child. In his efforts not to quash the spirit of adventure in his son he might have gone a little too far the other way.

Maybe it was not too late to make some fixes.

"I do believe you keep forgetting who I am. And I swear, if I find out you're lying, I'll make sure you will not make that mistake again. Understand?"

One of Damian's dark brow lifted. Sure his father knew how to be scary when he wanted to be. Feeling like a total bastard, he nodded solemnly and left silently, the guilt eating away at him from the inside. Whether Bruce believed him or not, seemingly for the moment he had him kind of in check.

* * *

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

It was already night when Alfred, Wayne's faithful butler, answered the bell. On the other side of the door stood one of the most remarkable-looking ladies Alfred had ever come across.

"Good evening, Miss Tate," he said placidly.

"Good evening, Alfred," Miranda answered with a confident grin as she stepped inside the house. "How many times do I have to ask you to call me Miranda?"

"I do beg your pardon, Miss." Alfred held on to his professional calm and took Miranda's rain coat. "I keep forgetting. It seems old habits die hard."

"You tell me."

"We have had no notice of your coming."

"Damian asked me to pick him up since Mr. Bennett canceled his tutoring."

"Oh, I'd have taken great pleasure in taking the lad home."

"No need to worry, Alfred. I'm sure he didn't want to bother you."

"If you will follow me, I shall make your presence known," he declared and walked toward the stairway.

"I'm going to wait here, Alfred. Thanks"

He turned to face her again. "May I offer you some refreshments in the meanwhile?"

"I'm fine," she replied. All she wanted at that moment was to leave that house as soon as possible. "Is Bruce at home?"

Alfred could not detect any unusual inflection in Tate's tone. It was as if she was discussing the weather.

"Master Bruce is spending some time in his study, Miss. Do you want me to let him know you're here?"

She blinked. "No, it's fine. I'll stay here while you tell Damian I'm waiting for him."

"Very well," Alfred answered and climbed the stairs toward Damian's room.

Once she was left alone in that giant hall, Miranda began to pace at random, watching the few pieces of art that adorned the ambience. She noticed many of them were replicas, since the vast majority of the originals had been ruined in the great fire years ago.

The fire led by his father.

Miranda took a breath as sadness, longing memories and regrets raced through her mind. In that moment she reaffirmed her promise to give her the chance to live the rest of her life without looking over her shoulder. She was going to take her life back... one sizzling step at a time.

Reaching an attached corridor, she paused in front of a giant hand painted oil portrait from a photo of Bruce's parents and bowed her head for a moment, while images of what had happened between them hours ago begin to play into her mind.

Her inner voice told her she had to be on guard. She once had trusted Bruce and held nothing back only to be rejected, discarded, and depreciated compared to Rachel Dawes. And to top that off he had embarked on a path that had forced him to take her father's life in order to save Gotham City.

_Only a fool would make the same mistake twice._

Recognizing the voice of reason, Miranda reminded herself to heed it, and keep her physical distance from him. As long as he remained at least three feet away from her, she was fine.

She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she did not hear someone else closing in on her. Yet a breath of air feathered the back of her neck just before his baritone voice became noticeable.

"Hello, Miranda."

She startled and slowly turned to the man who evoked feelings she tried to suppress so hard. He was looking devastatingly handsome in a pale linen shirt open at the neck, with his sleeves rolled up and jeans that clung to his narrow hips and emphasised the length and power of his muscular legs.

The longing rolled over her like a tidal wave as she stared at him.

_Run_, a voice in her head screamed as the man began to walked close towards her. She might even have responded to the voice had her feet not been nailed to the spot.

"Good evening, Bruce," it was all she could manage.


	29. 28 A Wicked Deceit Pt - 3

_Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers._

* * *

**XXVIII - A Wicked Deceit - Part 3**

_**Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

Previously, Bruce was staring through the window, watching the persistent and gentle drizzle that had become the heavy rain of hours ago. His growing doubts regarding Damian was no longer looming as a black cloud over his head, and his gut instinct urged him to believe in his son. Yet there was a part of his mind that kept screaming that – no matter what or how many warnings he did – Damian would going to test him to his limits.

His last hope was that the boy had realized the seriousness of his ultimatum and would give up on any attempt to take risks without proper training.

However, for now his thoughts were focused on Damian's mother – Miranda Tate aka Talia Ducard aka Talia al Ghul. So many identities, so many facets and only one woman.

Why did she have to be so damn complicated?

Bruce always knew in some ways being a Wayne always had a good side and a bad side. If on one hand there was the stifling scrutiny of the media and the constant nagging of those who expected him to be the perfect heir of an empire, everything had always come so easily for him – including women. He had scarcely reached his teens before older girls, and even women, had begun noticing him.

It was probably poetic justice that he had found himself in love with a woman who protected her emotions behind a wall so high he could not find a way over it

And he had no idea why at one minute they were sharing a pleasant truce, the next she acted as though he had got the plague.

Even so, Miranda was the only woman capable of tugging at emotions he had almost forgotten – or that he had never felt. Neither Rachel had achieved such a feat. That made him vulnerable.

He burned at the thought of her sharing her company with other men. He could not repress a surge of jealousy at the memory of how she had praised with pride Roman Sionis' virtues and standards.

Bruce lightly punched the windowsill, furious that with her alone his formidable control was nonexistent. Just the sound of her voice, a whisper of her scent on the air and his mind blanked.

He had always known what to do in any situation, how to get people to do what he wanted, but with Miranda he was stymied. Wryly he admitted to himself that his emotions were probably clouding his normally clear insight but he could not detach himself from the problem. He wanted her with a force and heat that obscured all other details.

He shook his head to free himself from his rage and frustration and it was then he heard the click of someone's heels in the corridor and he knew who was coming.

Like a moth attracted to a flame, he quietly followed the sounds of footsteps and stopped at the sight of Miranda. She was standing in front of his parents' portrait, silhouetted by dim light that caressed each dip and swell of her hourglass figure. His throat tightened as need, instantaneous and all-consuming, devoured him.

God, how he wanted her!

"Hello, Miranda."

She turned and answered flatly, "Good evening, Bruce."

"Good to see you. I didn't know you're coming by for a visit."

"I'm not visiting, I'm here to get Damian home."

"Here is his home," he declared gravely.

"You know what I mean." She kept her voice courteous in an attempt to lighten the growing tension in the room.

"He didn't tell me anything. He's supposed to have a private class in..." he paused to check his watch, "less than ten minutes."

"Mr. Bennett canceled his tutoring of tonight. Apparently Damian is progressing so well he doesn't need all these classes. This kid is doing better than expected," she replied, each word punctuated by motherly pride.

Bruce sighed. "Still would it be pushy of me to ask for some consideration? He could have told me of his change of plans."

Miranda folded her arms across her chest. "I'm sure there's some perfectly simple explanation."

"I'm sure there is. He's pissed because I've put him on the spot," he replied drily.

"And?" she asked tentatively.

"He denied it, of course," he went on quickly, "but, to be honest, I didn't sense much conviction."

"Don't be too tough. Try and remember what it is to be a teen with hormones."

"I think I can just about recall what a hormone feels like," he said in a husky voice, his eyes never leaving hers.

She broke eye contact with him and shifted her weight uncomfortably as she tried to keep the focus of the conversation, but whatever she was going to say next got interrupted by Alfred's voice.

"Sorry to interrupt you two, but Master Damian said he's ready to leave. He's waiting for you in the car, Miss Miranda" the butler informed.

"Thank you, Alfred. I'll be there in a minute."

Alfred nodded and left them alone again.

"He didn't bother to say bye," Bruce said once the butler was safely out of earshot. He sounded really upset. "I think he's pushing me aside."

Miranda smiled slightly, pained. "Join the club, Bruce. I've been through this every once in a while. But don't worry, tomorrow you're gonna be his hero again."

His mouth quirked slightly upwards before saying with a mocking lilt in his voice, "I somehow doubt that." He paused and then added quickly, "I believe perhaps apologies are in order."

"Relax, okay? Before you know it he's talking to you again."

"Are you asking me to believe you care?" he asked with a jerk of his head in her direction.

She recoiled from the hint of hostility in his voice.

"Of course I care." She adopted a conciliatory tone because one of them had to be a grown-up. "Look, about earlier today... I was annoyed by your persistence, but I shouldn't have been so harsh. That must have been hurtful and I'm sorry. I don't wanna be your enemy but I don't wanna dwell on the past either."

She stared at him and Bruce could not drag his eyes from her intense grey-blue eyes. His jaw tightened as she went on.

"I'm sure we can have an excellent professional relationship based on mutual respect and liking."

A heavy silence fell between them until Bruce broke it off.

"Hell!" he yelled into the silence. "Can't you see all I want is to mend the bridges between us?"

"That's what I'm trying too," she retorted back.

"No, you've been pushing me out of your life. What is it, _princess_ – out of sight, out of mind?"

_If only it were that simple_, Miranda thought, shaking her head despondently. Suddenly she could not hold her frustration in another second. "That's the problem – you never are."

He gave an impatient frown. "I'm never what?"

"Out of my mind… I think about you constantly."

Bruce froze and took a deep shuddering breath. His hard, probing stare pinned her to the spot and he seemed to be able to see straight into her head. "You think about me…?"

Miranda who was already regretting like crazy her candour, flushed and replied icily, "Didn't I just say so?" She took a step forward leading the entrance hall. "Now I really should be going."

He blinked at her, completely stunned. If she'd given him an open-palmed slap to the cheek he couldn't have been more shocked.

"How can you say such a thing and just walk away?" he demanded, his voice hard.

"Don't, Bruce," she protested, her face stricken, "please! We could never be what we were before. We can raise our child healthily without being together. Why make things so complicated?"

Bruce bit back a curse and rolled his eyes heavenwards.

She shook her head and turned to walk away one more time. But he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. There was something in his dark-brown gaze that held her captive and would not let her walk away. Something that made her forget everything except him.

"Because I see only one end to this... Our only chance for happiness – for peace – is being together."

This grim affirmation startled Miranda, who opened her mouth to deliver a horrified reply. She paused; could she deny it? Was there not a grain of truth in his statement? It had been her desire to retain a little dignity that had prevented her from telling him the truth about her feelings; to hand over her heart without reservation. Nevertheless she jerked away from his grip and sped off toward the exit.

"Have a good-night, Mr. Wayne," she said aloud, without bothering to look back at him.

* * *

"Master Bruce, I answered a phone call from S.T.A.R. Labs. They wanted to remind you and confirm your treatment session tomorrow morning," Alfred stopped before the study door and informed Bruce, who seemed distract, sitting on a black leather Chesterfield style armchair.

"I'll be there at the scheduled time," he replied, not really feeling like anything.

The meeting was very looking forward for Bruce. There had been some sort of consensus on how to proceed his treatment. Doctors and bioengineers had agreed on stem cell transplantation for regenerating hyaline cartilage after the implant of an unique structure, comprising a coral scaffold with biological modifications. The implant would provide a supporting framework that would enable steam cells – previously taken from the patient itself, then isolated and cultured and finally percutaneously injected into the patient's body – to grow, forming vessels within the scaffold and regenerate tissue.

In order to improve the success of the procedure, Bruce ought to follow a rigid regimen of physiotherapeutic exercises with the help of a special clothing that would fix postural problems. All this would allow him not depend on a cane or a leg brace anymore.

"There was another call from a very persistent lady. Vicki Vale is her name. She's asking if you were interested in give your side of the facts. She said you know what she's talking about."

Wayne inhaled a deep breath and levered himself off the armchair.

"I think I can squeeze it into my schedule."

Alfred blinked, taken aback by his employer's sudden response.

"Are you going to accept to be interviewed? It's been years since..."

Bruce interrupted him, "She's been digging my life for a hell of scoop. She thinks Wayne Enterprises had something to do with Batman."

The butler shot him a concerned look.

"My good Lord! How much does she know about this?"

The other man turned and headed toward the bookshelf as if he was more interested in those thick tomes than in that conversation. He picked up an old edition of "_The Scarlet Pimpernel" _and flipped through the pages.

"Enough to put me on a tight spot. If I don't want to jeopardize all I've got so far, I'm gonna have to play her game for a while."

"Do you think it's wise, sir?" Alfred asked, his voice carrying a note of worry.

"I don't know. But this is the least of my problems at the moment."

"Batman's return was probably not the best idea. You do realize that there will be millions of people after you, right?"

Bruce turned to face him, the book still in his hands.

"You once told me that being Batman results in casualties. I'll have to live with those casualties for the rest of my life."

"Master Bruce, don't you realize that you're not alone anymore. Your actions and choices can affect the life of close people that you care. If that journalist let slip something important it could be a bloody hell."

"I've never been alone before, Alfred. I've always had you by my side. That never stopped me to what I had to do." He held up a hand when Alfred opened his mouth to speak, "I know what you mean, but maybe it's time to protect my secret identity by deflecting attention away from speculation it's me who wears the cape."

Alfred took a few steps forward an attempt to approach him.

"I'm not stopping you from doing what you feel is necessary. Your father believed that if you could do good things for other people you had a moral obligation to do those things. But you should ask yourself if all of this is really worth."

"I've already had."

Alfred looked at Wayne curiously. "And?"

"I've asked myself how can I protect a city that seems to refuse to accept help? And the answer is always the same. No matter how terrible or wrecked this city is, I have to keep hope alive. I have to struggle. I have to be a symbol. Because Gotham can destroy a person, and then rebuilds it. And if you come out alive, you become the pinnacle of human evolution."

"I believe, sir, Gotham is finally strong enough to stand on their feet. And this is thanks to you. You made the difference. The bad thing is they don't know how to walk yet. They will eventually take their first steps and stumble." He paused briefly and then added quickly, "And on talking about first steps, don't you think you're proceeding at an excruciatingly slow pace with regard to your relationship with Miss Tate?"

Bruce returned the book on the shelf and stared at the vast library in front of him before answering with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"Honestly, I don't know what to do, Alfred. Miranda have erected a wall – a damned ten-feet-high three-feet-thick wall – between us." He spread his expressive hands to illustrate the dimensions under discussion.

"You shouldn't be discouraged, Master Bruce. The way to a woman's heart requires more than affection and attention. It requires lots of patience and mainly honesty. You must let her know how you really feel about her."

Anguish filled Bruce's face and he remained silent, staring at a fixed point on the floor.

_I've done this... But she's so adamant about us... So bitter..._

He had lost count of the people he had hurt. Regret was something he felt quite often in his line of work. But he could at least mend fences and fix what had not been broken beyond repair. And Miranda's admission tonight made him feel a tiny shred of hope amid the hopelessness.

Alfred was speaking something but he could not pay any attention. He dragged his eyes up from the floor, where presumably he had been staring like some catatonic moron, until the older man's face came into frame.

"I'm sorry Alfred. What have you just said?"

"I was talking about Master Damian. He's a promising young man."

"Yeah. He's far better than me."

"Yet, what on earth makes you think that teen's prepared to take on this kind of responsibility or danger level?"

"I only agreed to train him because it was the only way to keep him under my wings. I'm gonna string along until he lose interest to use the mask and hood."

Alfred choked back a laugh. "Being an offspring of two strong headed, I'm sure it will give you a hard time."

"Please," Bruce begged with a groan. "Don't tempt providence!"

* * *

_**Road around Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits**_

Miranda pulled up the Mercedes alongside the road and switched off the engine. Beside her Damian, for a moment, wondered why they had come to a sudden stop.

"Something wrong?" Damian prompted, his brow furrowed.

"We need to talk." She turned slightly in her seat so she could look him in the eye. "Now."

_Oh, boy._

But instead of talking to him, Miranda turned and remained silent, her eyes focused on the road before her as a tired feeling was back on her more strongly than ever.

After what seemed like an eternity, Damian urged, "Mom, please just... say whatever the hell you're thinking so I don't have to spend the next minutes trying to decipher it."

"Your father shared with me a very distressing thought," she snapped out abruptly.

Damian snorted. "Whatever he has said, he's making a big deal over nothing."

"Why don't we skip all the pack of lies and stick to the facts?"

"I've never lied to you," he replied defensively.

She dismissed his excuses with a motion of her hand. Who he was trying to fool anyway? "Let's pretend I believe."

"How...?" his voice trailed off.

"That's not important." Her tone was calm, but firm. "The thing is you disobeyed your father's orders and lied to him blatantly. Do you realize the seriousness of what you did? Seems you're brave enough to risk your life but not enough to take responsibility for your actions."

She and Bruce might be indulgent parents, but when Damian overstepped the mark they came down hard. And by anyone's definition he had overstepped the mark this time!

"I know I should have told him – and you," he admitted, shamefaced.

"Why did you do it?"

Damian looked at her and shrugged.

She sucked in a sharp breath. The similarity between father and son had never been more pronounced as the teenager slung her a look from under well-defined sable brows. "An impulse, I guess."

Miranda rolled her eyes and spat, "Have you lost your mind? I saw the newscast. You fought against an entire gang. You could have died."

"Don't worry, mom. I handled the situation."

Miranda's mouth fell open. "You handled…"

"It's all right, really. I got it all under control."

"Have you suffered a head injury?" Concussion would go someway to explaining his ill-judged confidence. "Sometimes, Damian, there is a fine line between confidence and stupidity – in this instance there is a dirty great chasm!"

Damian could not suppress a laugh.

"Damian John Blake-Wayne!" she protested. "This isn't a joke. You can't just go out to paint the town red at night for the purpose of feel the thrill of danger."

"Why not?"

"You're sixteen. What you did was incredibly dangerous. Anything could have happened," she said, struggling to impress on him the seriousness of the situation without coming over as the heavy parent.

"But it didn't," he pointed out with another flash of unarguable logic. "So there's not much point worrying about it, is there? I know that thrill, and this wasn't it. This was . . . more. Like I was finally doing something I should be doing."

Was he ready for that mission? Trained? Capable? All those questions raced through her mind while his attitude totally baffled her, still she managed to find some amusement in this whole unfortunate predicament.

"Really? Are you aware that the career opportunities for cat burglars and masked vigilantes are severely limited? And the benefits are disgraceful. No health insurance, no parking space . . ."

"I got you," he said, grinning wickedly up at her, yet the shadow of a sort of sorrow was hovering over him.

Realizing there was more than met the eye, she found his hand and squeezed.

"Something bothering you? Don't say no, 'cause you're a terrible liar."

"Really? I thought I was getting better at it," he answered, without making eye contact. His eyes were focused where their hands were twined. The corner of his lips rose ever so slightly.

"Mm-mmm. What's wrong?" she pressed on.

"There's a lot of stuff going on in my life. School. Friends. And I'm having a... difficult time figuring out how to fit it all in."

"I've been struggling with some of those thoughts, as well."

He turned to face her. "Do you have any good ideas?"

"I think we just have to be really honest about what's going on in our lives. Think you can do that?" When he grimaced in response she muttered, "Come on."

"I'm in! Yes!"

"I know your dad can seem a bit unapproachable at times, but if there's a problem between you guys you should tell him. I think you'd be surprised at how understanding he can be."

"The truth is I just couldn't let him be out there all by himself. What if something happens? He should have someone to watch his back. I can help," he admitted.

"I know what you're capable of and I'm proud of you. But Bruce can handle himself more than you can imagine."

Damian smiled back and smoothly untangled their hands.

"I've got something to you," he declared as pulled something from his pocket, and Miranda soon realized it was her necklace. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened and closed several times before she laughed.

"The necklace. Thought Bruce was doing all the intelligence work and orchestrating the rescue. Would you care to explain how you've got this, young man?" she asked concerned and then realized it did not matter. Her son had recovered her beloved necklace. Nothing else mattered. "I'll tell you what, nevermind."

"So, what are you going to do?" he asked her curiously as she got the jewel, tilting his head to one side.

"Nothing... But you will tell your father. Eventually. I think Bruce deserves to know the truth."

Yes. And he was going to go ballistic as soon as he knew it.

"Why don't you just tell on me to him?"

"What makes you say that? You're my son. I don't betray my own blood."

Damian glanced down at his hands. "Okay."

"I know sometimes it may not seem this way, but your father loves you very deeply, Damian. And me too."

He looked at her again and slid his arms across her shoulders, giving her a quick hug. "Love you too."

"Just be careful, okay?" she asked, raising a finger in warning. "If this is to be done... it must be done carefully."

Damian nodded his head in understanding. "Right."

"Fine. Let's go home," she said and then started the engine.


End file.
